United States or Central African Republic ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
For nearly half-an-hour Paul wandered about without finding himself on the dangerous spot, and the more he searched the more convinced he became that Muggridge had been laughing at him. "Won't Farmer Minards be pleased when Paul tells him," said Michael after a long and anxious silence, and Paul had wandered about in all directions in safety.
He ran on to the boot-house, but with little hope of finding Muggridge there now, for he would probably be out in the hay-field with the rest of the men. A thought had come to him, however, that he himself might manage to clean the mud off the boots, if he was quick. When he reached the boot-house it was as he feared, no Muggridge was there; but to his horror someone else was no other than Mrs.
The very spirit of bravado and mischief seemed to fill him as he mocked at his companion, and then, with a sudden mad impulse, he climbed over and attempted to run around inside. But here matters were different; the ground was soft and slimy, his feet stuck and began to sink; he tried to run lightly, but 'twas no good, and he clung to the hurdles in real fear. Muggridge, too, was alarmed.
"Them is the real New England beans," he continued, taking a black bean-pot with a wooden spoon from the ashes. "There's the bone and sinner of New England's sons right here. I'm master-fond of 'em; never sails withaout a pot or so. Every time I see a pot it makes me think of old Joe Muggridge, a deacon of aour taown.
Anketell had to go away to see him, leaving Paul with his confession unmade. All the evening Paul watched in a fever of anxiety for Muggridge. He could not rest. He knew that the boots must be cleaned from all traces of his folly of the morning, and must be in their place by breakfast time the next day, or searching inquiries would begin.
A better man with a kicking horse, or a savage bull, could not perhaps, be found on Dartmoor, and if the convict had stood and allowed himself to be pinioned with only a moderate amount of struggling and kicking, the farmer's presence of mind would have been sufficient, but, as it was, when the man made one bold rush, with pistol cocked, for the very spot where he stood, he gave way before the rush; but for an instant there was a struggle and a fight, for Muggridge and the man who slept at the farm were close behind the farmer, little expecting their master to give way so soon, and leave them to grapple with their visitor, and it may have been that he intended to shoot down one of them, or that in the struggle the pistol accidentally went off, but in another second a bullet whistled through the air, and, passing clean through the fleshy part of Paul's arm, became embedded in the wall behind.
"You are afraid, that's what it is, but I'll just show you I am not," and, paying no heed to Muggridge's call, he ran lightly round outside the hurdles. To his surprise the ground was almost hard. The man had placed the hurdles further out than Muggridge had thought, but Paul did not let him know that.
In fact, for the moment he thought they both were, and with the horror of it, forgetting the convict and everything else, he rushed to the bedside, leaving Muggridge and Davey to manage as best they could. But the convict had the best of it, and the two had never a chance to close with him.
'Yas, came from the man in the riggin'. 'Flounderin'? shouted the officer ag'in. 'No, sung out old man Muggridge, for it was him: 'next thing to it. We're aout o' beans. Kin ye spare a pot?
How dare he laugh at him, a gentleman, and a visitor? "You told me anybody light could get across," he said sulkily, and he looked away across the moor that Muggridge might not see the tears of anger and mortification which would well up in his eyes. "So he could." "Well you couldn't find anyone much lighter than I am, and I went in," and he shuddered at the recollection.
Word Of The Day