Then there was a rush of the pack to the spot indicated, and in a moment the insensible lad was in the arms of Piper, surrounded by an eager throng.
'Get along, you fellows,' shouted the hare. 'you'll give him no breathing room.'
'Ah! and where'll he think himself, I wonder, when he opens his eyes and sees he is in the hands of one with black face and long ears, and tail and hairy body? I reckon he won't suppose he's in Abraham's bosom.'
'What'll he take you for either, in your black faces?' retorted Piper. 'Not angels of light, sure-ly.' Then old Crout hobbled up. He had followed far in the rear, as best he could with his lame leg and stick.
'What be the matter, now?' he asked. 'What, Larry Nanspian throwed? Some o' you lads run for a gate. Us mun' carry 'n home on that. There may be bones abroke, mussy knows.'
'I reckon we can't take 'n into Langford,' suggested Sam Voaden.
'Likely, eh?' sneered Piper. 'You Sam, get a gate for the lad. He must be carried home at once, and send for a doctor.'
He was obeyed; and in a few minutes a procession was formed, conveying Larry from the moor.
'He groaned as we lifted 'n,' said Sam Voaden.
'So he's got life in him yet.'