“You sin it in th’ paper, I make no doubt, but yer can ’aave it from me to its proper purpus.  Mr. Dale he plunged without so much as tekking off of his getters and spurs.”  And then he described how, stupefied by his mortal danger, he treated Dale more like an enemy than a savior.  “I gripped ’un, sir, tighter than a lad in his senses ’d clip his sweetheart;” and he would pause and laugh.  “Yes, I’d ‘a’ drowned ’un as well as myself if he’d ‘a’ let me.  I fair tried to scrag ‘un.  But Mr. Dale he druv at me wi’ ‘s fist, and kep’ a bunching me off wi’ ’s knees, and then when all the wind and the wickedness was gone out o’ me, he tuk me behind th’ scruff a’ the neck and just paddled me along like a dummy.”

At this point Veale would pause to laugh, before continuing.  “Nor that wasn’t all, nether.  So soon as Mr. Dale catched his own breath he give me th’ artificial respreation—­saved my life second time when they’d lugged us on the bank.  I was gone for a ghost; but I do hear—­as they’ll tell ‘ee at th’ mill—­Mr. Dale he knelt acrost me a pump-handling my arms, pulling of my tongue, and bellows-blowing my ribs for a clock hour;” and Veale would laugh again, spit on the ground, and conclude his story.  “Quaarts an’ quaarts of waater they squeedged out of me afore the wind got back in—­an’ I don’t seem’s if I’d ever get free o’ the taste o’ that waater.  Nothing won’t settle it, no matter how ’ard I do try.”

The gentry who smilingly listened, knowing Veale for a queer rustic character of poor repute, gave him sixpences to assist in his efforts to quench an abnormal thirst.  Talking together, they decided that the hero of the tale had done rather a fine thing in a very unostentatious way, and it occurred to several of them that pluck ought to be rewarded.  If the chance came they would encourage Dale.  The M.F.H. in fact made up his mind to reconsider matters, and see if he could not before long let Dale have an inning at the Kennels.

Throughout this period and well into the hot weather of June Mavis was stanchly toiling, both as clerical assistant in the office and general servant in the house.  It was she who did most of the cooking, no light task since meals had to be supplied for the carter and two of the other men.  Mary always worked with a will; but old Mrs. Goudie, who came for charring twice a week, used to say that, in spite of being handicapped by the state of her health, the mistress worked harder than the maid.

A swept hearth, a trimmed lamp, and the savory odor of well-cooked food, were what Dale might be sure of finding at the evening hour; and Mavis tried to give him something more.  He must have peace at the end of the day, and thus be able to forget the day’s disappointments, no matter how cruel they had been.  She would not let him talk about the business at night.  She said he must just eat, rest, and then sleep; but she allowed him to read, provided that he read real books and magazines, not his ledgers or those horrid trade journals.