"There is nothing to be stolen there, gentlemen. I disposed of my horses this morning. We happen to be awake here, so I should advise you to go away quietly."
Under an apple-tree in the orchard Jeremy was swearing into the sympathetic ears of Surgeon Stott.
"Confound the fellow, it is like grabbing an eel. He has taken his horses inside the house. I know what that means. He is going to make a bolt for the sea."
Parson Goffin appeared, a long black shadow among the apple-trees. He was taking snuff, and was ripe for a luxurious and irrepressible explosion.
"Ha—tissho—ha—t——"
"Damn you, Goffin, you are a nice man for a night surprise!"
"It was not much of a surprise, sir. I can sneeze with impunity. Ha tisshoo—ha tissho."
Jeremy swore. It was getting ridiculous.
"Look here, Stott, we shall have to bivouac here—blockade the place."
"That's the game, sir."