'Where is his home?'
'Where should it be but West Wyke?'
'What! West Wyke in South Tawton?'
'Sure-ly. Where else should it be? It don't jump about, now here, now there, I reckon.'
After much difficulty with Joyce, who was unreasonable in her jealousy and suspicion, it was decided that the farmer should send a waggon well bedded with straw, and that Joyce should be conveyed in this, with the still insensible man in her arms, to West Wyke.
There was no medical man nearer than Okehampton, and West Wyke was not as distant from Okehampton as Coombow, the place where they were.
'I arn't got no money,' said Joyce, 'but I'll pay you for the waggon, sure enough.'
'I do not expect payment,' said Farmer Facey in a mildly deprecatory tone—a tone that implied he would yield the point if pressed. 'I dare say the gentleman, when he gets well, will remember me. And if he don't, well—he'll be sure to have relations as will do what be proper and respectable.'
'It be I,' said Joyce, defiantly, 'it be I as has to pay, and blast me blue if I don't.'
'Where will the money come from?' asked Facey, surveying her rags.