Proceeding to inform Evan how George Stokes had snored in that characteristic manner from boyhood, ever since he and George had slept in a hayloft together; and how he, kept wakeful and driven to distraction by George Stokes’ nose, had been occasionally compelled, in sheer self-defence, madly to start up and hold that pertinacious alarum in tight compression between thumb and forefinger; and how George Stokes, thus severely handled, had burst his hold with a tremendous snort, as big as a bull, and had invariably uttered the exclamation, ’Hulloa!—­same to you, my lad!’ and rolled over to snore as fresh as ever;—­all this with singular rustic comparisons, racy of the soil, and in raw Hampshire dialect, the waggoner came to a halt opposite the stone, and, while Evan strode to assist the girl, addressed himself to the great task of arousing the sturdy sleeper and quieting his trumpet, heard by all ears now that the accompaniment of the wheels was at an end.

George, violently awakened, complained that it was before his time, to which he was true; and was for going off again with exalted contentment, though his heels had been tugged, and were dangling some length out of the machine; but his comrade, with a determined blow of the lungs, gave another valiant pull, and George Stokes was on his legs, marvelling at the world and man.  Evan had less difficulty with the girl.  She rose to meet him, put up her arms for him to clasp her waist, whispering sharply in an inward breath:  ‘What are you going to do with me?’ and indifferent to his verbal response, trustingly yielded her limbs to his guidance.  He could see blood on her bitten underlip; as, with the help of the waggoner, he lifted her on the mattress, backed by a portly bundle, which the sagacity of Mr. Stokes had selected for his couch.

The waggoner cracked his whip, laughing at George Stokes, who yawned and settled into a composed ploughswing, without asking questions; apparently resolved to finish his nap on his legs.

’Warn’t he like that Myzepper chap, I see at the circus, bound athert gray mare!’ chuckled the waggoner.  ’So he ’d ’a gone on, had ye ’a let ’n.  No wulves waddn’t wake Gearge till he ’d slept it out.  Then he ’d say, “marnin’!” to ’m.  Are ye ‘wake now, Gearge?’

The admirable sleeper preferred to be a quiet butt, and the waggoner leisurely exhausted the fun that was to be had out of him; returning to it with a persistency that evinced more concentration than variety in his mind.  At last Evan said:  ’Your pace is rather slow.  They’ll be shut up in Fallowfield.  I ’ll go on ahead.  You’ll find me at one of the inns-the Green Dragon.’

In return for this speech, the waggoner favoured him with a stare, followed by the exclamation: 

‘Oh, no! dang that!’

‘Why, what’s the matter?’ quoth Evan.

‘You en’t goin’ to be off, for to leave me and Gearge in the lurch there, with that ther’ young woman, in that ther’ pickle!’ returned the waggoner.