"What mun Ay do wi' t' horses, Sur?" asked Tim, touching his castor as
he spoke.
"Take them home, to be sure," replied Harry, "and meet us with them
under the oak tree, close to Mr. Wisner's house, at five o'clock this
evening."
"Nay! nay! Sur!" answered Tim, with a broad grin, eager to see the
sport, and hating to be sent so unceremoniously home, "that winna do,
I'm thinking--who'll hug t' gam bag, and carry t' bottles, and make t'
loonchun ready; that winna do, Sur niver. If you ple-ease, Sur, Ay'll
pit oop t' horses i' Measter Minthorne's barn here, and shak' doon a
bite o' hay tull 'em, and so gang on wi' you, and carry t' bag whaile
four o' t' clock, and then awa back and hitch oop, and draive doon to t'
aik tree!"
"I understand, Tim," said his master, laughing; "I understand right
well! you want to see the sport."
"Ayse oophaud it!" grinned Timothy, seeing at once that he should gain
his point.
"Well! well! I don't care about it; will Minthorne let us put up the
beasts in his barn, Tom?"
"Let us! let us!" exclaimed the fat man; "by gad I'd like to see Joe
Minthorne, or any other of his breed, a tellin' me I should'nt put my
cattle where I pleased; jest let me ketch him at it!"
"Very well; have it your own way, Tim, take care of the beasts, and
overtake us as quick as you can!" and as he spoke, he let down the bars
which parted a fine wheat stubble from the road, and entered the field
with the dogs at heel.
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