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Updated: May 21, 2025
Yow couldn't pole the boat across wi'out losing your way." "Couldn't I?" cried Dick. "Oh, yes, I could! Good-night! I want you to show Mr Marston some sport with the ducks some day." "Ay; you bring him over, Mester Dick, and we'll hev' a good turn at the 'coy. Good-night!"
He turned to go back to the boat. "I say, Hicky," he said; "let's go and see Dave. You won't mind poling?" "He says I won't mind poling, Mester Marston," said Hickathrift with a chuckle. "Here, come along."
"Yo're too late, mester," he said "yo're too late." But young as he was and he was a very young man the doctor had presence of mind and energy, and he flung his whole soul and strength into the case.
She flushed and the corners of her mouth shook and a mist seemed to sweep over her eyes. "Eh! dear lad!" she broke out tremulously. "Eh! dear lad!" as if she had not known she were going to say it. She did not say, "Mester Colin," but just "dear lad" quite suddenly. She might have said it to Dickon in the same way if she had seen something in his face which touched her. Colin liked it.
"He likes to hear folk talk about him. An' curious bless me, there never was his like for curiosity an' meddlin'. He's always comin' to see what I'm plantin'. He knows all th' things Mester Craven never troubles hissel' to find out. He's th' head gardener, he is." The robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped and looked at them a little.
"You give good advice, mester," said he, "I think I shall follow it." "Let me look at the paper," said I. He handed it to me. It was a Welsh paper, and full of dismal accounts from the seat of war. "What news, mester?" said the waggoner. "Nothing but bad," said I; "the Russians are beating us and the French too." "If the Rusiaid beat us," said the waggoner, "it is because the Francod are with us.
"Go on, then," cried Dick. "Feel how cold and damp it is." "Feel it, Dick? Yes; and right in my wounded arm." "Does it hurt much?" "No; only aches. Why, how dense it is!" "Can you find your way?" "Dunno, mester. Best keep straight on, I think. Dessay it'll soon pass over." But it did not soon pass over; and as the wheelwright pushed on it seemed to be into a denser mist than ever.
"Eh, you're a queer 'un, Mester Machin!" murmured the old woman as he left. He never knew precisely what she meant. Fifteen twenty years later in his career her intonation of that phrase would recur to him and puzzle him.
He were takkin' on terrible, ye know," she explained, "thinkin' Robert 'ud be crowin' ower him at not bein' able to walk. He's allus agate o' saucin our mester is yon he reckons he's th' owdest member o' th' Club, an' my 'usband he's turned seventy, an' he's walked fifty-two times. Ah, fifty-two times it were last Club Day, weren't it, Martin?"
But the young engineer remained steadfast to his proposal, and seated himself on the other side. "Better let me lade out a few o' the big uns, Mester Dick," said Dave, "while you lads hold on."
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