‘I’ll tell ye, Dipping,’ cried a young sunburnt giant, starting up from the bench on which he had been sitting. ‘Where is’t?’
‘You see yon tall willow?’
‘Him as sticks up there by the dike?’
‘Ay. Look out there to the left o’ it, across the fen, and tell me what ye see.’
The fellow’s blue eyes were directed with an earnest gaze towards the distant spot which the landlord pointed out; and then he turned sharply round and exclaimed: ‘It be two horsemen.’
‘Are ye sure?’ asked mine host, as he bent his brows and vainly tried to make out the far-off speck.
‘Quite sure,’ was the reply. ‘They’re coming up the road by the old North Lode.—There; now they’re passing One Man’s Mill.’
‘I see ’em!’ exclaimed Swenson, pointing towards a solitary windmill, the jagged sails of which formed a slight break in the long line of misty flatness.
‘Perchance they be travellers, and will want beds for the night,’ said mine host, roused to action by the mere possibility of such an event occurring. ‘I will see that the place is got ready for them.’
‘Hobb Dipping is soon counting his chickens,’ remarked one of the uncouth fenmen, laughing, as the landlord of the Saxonford Arms disappeared.