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"Cast over them corks, Sim Udy! How much rope have 'ee got, Jim?" He began to strip as he spoke. "Lashins," answered Jim Lewarne. "Splice it up, then, an' hitch a dozen corks along it." "Zeb, Zeb!" cried his father, "What be 'bout?" "Swimmin'," answered Zeb, who by this time had unlaced his boots. "The notion! Look here, friends take a look at the bufflehead!
"Zeb's turn!" roared out Toby Lewarne, breaking off The Third Good Joy midway, in his excitement. "Have a care have a care, my son!" Old Zeb looked up to shout. "Thee'rt so good as wed already; so do thy wedded man's duty, an' kiss th' hugliest!" It was true.
"How ridiculous!" muttered the stranger, just loud enough for Ruby to hear. "Who is this absurd person?" Jim Lewarne answered "A low-lived chap, mister, as saved your skin awhile back." "Dear, dear how unpardonable of me! I hadn't, the least idea at this distance. Excuse me, I must go and thank him at once." He moved towards the hedge with a brisk step that seemed to cost him some pain.
"You, Jim Lewarne, run to the mowhay, hot-foot, an' lend a hand wi' the datchin' ladder, an' hi! stop! fetch along my second-best glass, under the Dook o' Cumberland's picter i' the parlour, 'longside o' last year's neck; an'-hi! cuss the chap he's gone like a Torpointer! Ruby, my dear, step along an' show en Why, hello!
"Iss, to-morrow, at eleven i' the forenoon. Jim Lewarne brought me word." "Terrible times they be for Jim, I reckon," said Elias Sweetland. "All yestiddy he was goin' back'ards an' forrards like a lost dog in a fair, movin' his chattels.
Young Zeb followed, and Elias Sweetland, both similarly laden. Less than half-way down the rock plunged abruptly, cutting off farther descent. Jim Lewarne, in a cloud of foam, stood up, slipped the coil over his head, and unwound it, glancing to right and left.
Jim Lewarne, for example, were accustomed on such occasions to represent the van and rear-guard respectively in the march of gaiety; and in this instance Jim had already imbibed too much hot "shenachrum," while his wife, still in the stage of artificial ease, and wearing a lace cap, which was none the less dignified for having been smuggled, was perpending what to say when she should get him home.
Meantime, a group of four was standing in the middle of Parc Dew, the twenty-acred field behind the farmstead. The stranger, dressed in a blue jersey and outfit of Farmer Tresidder's, that made up in boots for its shortcomings elsewhere, was addressing the farmer, Ruby, and Jim Lewarne, who heard him with lively attention.
They had seen his success from the beach, and Jim Lewarne, with plenty of line yet to spare, waited for the next move. Zeb worked along till he could touch the man's thigh. "Keep your knee stiddy," he called out; "I'm goin' to grip hold o't." For answer, the stranger only kicked out with his foot, as a pettish child might, and almost thrust him from his hold.
"Ye dundering old shammick!" broke in the parson, driving the ferule of his cane deep in the sand, "be content to have begotten a fool, and thank heaven and his mother he's a gamey fool." "Thank'ee, Pa'son," said Young Zeb, turning his head as Jim Lewarne fastened the belt of corks under his armpits. "Now the line not too tight round the waist, an' pay out steady. You, Jim, look to this.
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