‘It is hardly fair to leave the chaps,’ said Loveday reluctantly, and looking back at them. But she heard no more, and flitting off under the trees, was soon lost to his sight.
Festus and the rest had by this time reached Uncle Benjy’s door, which they were discomfited and astonished to find closed. They began to knock, and then to kick at the venerable timber, till the old man’s head, crowned with a tasselled nightcap, appeared at an upper window, followed by his shoulders, with apparently nothing on but his shirt, though it was in truth a sheet thrown over his coat.
‘Fie, fie upon ye all for making such a hullaballoo at a weak old man’s door,’ he said, yawning. ‘What’s in ye to rouse honest folks at this time o’ night?’
‘Hang me—why—it’s Uncle Benjy! Haw—haw—haw?’ said Festus. ‘Nunc, why how the devil’s this? ’Tis I—Festus—wanting to come in.’
‘O no, no, my clever man, whoever you be!’ said Uncle Benjy in a tone of incredulous integrity. ‘My nephew, dear boy, is miles away at quarters, and sound asleep by this time, as becomes a good soldier. That story won’t do to-night, my man, not at all.’
‘Upon my soul ’tis I,’ said Festus.
‘Not to-night, my man; not to-night! Anthony, bring my blunderbuss,’ said the farmer, turning and addressing nobody inside the room.
‘Let’s break in the window-shutters,’ said one of the others.
‘My wig, and we will!’ said Festus. ‘What a trick of the old man!’
‘Get some big stones,’ said the yeomen, searching under the wall.