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"A little hot something for his inside will be good, but indeed, many's the drink I have given him," she suggested. "What have you been giving him, Kirsty?" "Senny and dandylion, and a little whisky. They will be telling me it is ferry good whatever for the stomach and bow'ls." "I don't think I would give him any more of that; but we will try and make him feel a little more comfortable." Mrs.
"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby. "Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or t' other way." "I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more straw in 'em than bow'ls." "If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it, hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"
Rosco saw at once the absurdity of giving way to anger, and restrained himself. "But you cannot restrain my voice, Ebony," he continued, "and I promise you that I will shout till I am heard." "Shout away, massa, much as you please. Bu'st you's lungs if you like, for you's in de bow'ls ob de hill here." Rosco felt that he was in the negro's powers and remained silent.
The boy crept to the forehatch and peered down. One tiny yellow star flickered in the pitch blackness beneath. "Mr. Lanyon!" His voice was frightened of itself. "Is that you?" The Litany ceased. Some one cleared his throat. "That's me, sir," came a voice from the pit. "I'm back where I belong in her bow'ls."
"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby. "Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or t' other way." "I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more straw in 'em than bow'ls." "If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it, hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"
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