'West Wyke,' answered Joyce.
'Where is that?'
She made a motion with her chin, indicating the direction.
'And is there a gate to be had on which I can lay him?'
She jerked her chin again.
'Now, sir,' said the post-boy, coming up, 'I've got the osses quiet, what can I do for you?'
'This gentleman must be removed at once on a hurdle or gate. Run and bring me one.'
'Be he hurted cruel bad?' asked the boy.
'He is dead.'
'Deary me!' exclaimed the post-boy. 'What a mussy it weren't one of the osses. Make us truly thankful. I'll get you a gate.'