"'If that be'unt Master Benham's horse, may I be struck blind,' says I. And look 'ee, sir, he's bin stuck in t' shoulder wid a knife."
Jeremy examined the horse, and made light of it.
"The squire has had a spill, and lost his nag."
Jack Bumpstead and the labourer shook their heads at each other with dolorous pessimism.
"He's bin stuck wid a knife, or t' point of a hanger."
"Hedge stake, more likely."
"No, sir, it be'unt, sir. 'Tain't the sort o' mark a stake leaves."
Jeremy was vastly disturbed, but his main desire was to keep the affair from Squire Christopher and to put the gag upon these two garrulous men. Gossip always runs on ahead to make trouble, and Jeremy, man of the world that he was, had learned the value of a subtle unobtrusiveness in dealing with all happenings that touched even the edge of passion. He took the labourer aside and dealt with him wonderfully after the manner of a soldier and a philosopher. The fellow had to be persuaded into taking a pride in his own discretion.
"I be'unt for sayin' a word, sir."
"That's it; you are the right sort of fellow. We may want a man of your sense over here in a day or two. Jesse Saunders, is it? I'll keep you in mind."