"Go home-along, say I," a third answered. "He be a true man of his word. Half-past nine, ’a said; half-past nine ’a meant, and if he bean’t here ’tis a plain token he bean’t a-comin’!" "I tell ’ee what, neighbours," said the man who had first spoken. "We’ll gie un five minutes’ law, as near as we can guess it by trampin’ forth and back; then we’ll wend up-along to Dower House and axe un for orders. I’ll be sworn he be fillin’ up his inside wi’ high meat and noble drink." "Ay, and maybe figgy pudden or squab-pie," said another, licking his lips. "Do ’ee think, now, we bein’ pore men all, they’d gie us a croust and a nibleykin, like the rich gaffer and Lazarus?" "Jown me if we don’t go straight as a line and see. Hey! step out, souls all." They hurried into the village and up the hill, arriving at the Dower House about ten minutes to ten. The house was brightly lit, and from within came sounds of laughter. "Sech merry doings bean’t for we poor souls," remarked one of the men despondently. "True, neighbour Pollard, we bean’t all portigal sons," said another. "You be a bufflehead, sure enough. The portigal son in the Book comed home-along a beggar in rags, arter swallerin’ pigs’ wash." "Ah well, I must ha’ been thinkin’ o’ some other holy man." "True; Lazarus was the man. Rap at the door, neighbours, and make a goodish noise, or ye won’t be heerd through this yer racket." Susan came to the door in answer to the knock. "Please, ma’am, we be come," began Pollard, and then found it necessary to swallow. "Well I never! What be come for?" "For Maister Polwhele, wishin’ ’ee no harm. ’A said he’d jine us when clock said half-past nine, and we’ll be obleeged to ’ee if you’ll say as we be come for orders." "Why, bless me, Mr. Polwhele went away when clock strook nine, and as sober as a jedge." "Well, souls, ’tis ’nation hard to traipse up that hill for nothing at all. We med as well go home-along and get to our beds. We be sorry to bring ’ee out, ma’am, such a bitter cold night, but ’twas to be." "I wish ’ee well, poor souls," said Susan. "A nesh young female," remarked one of the men, as they departed. "She’d as lief as not ha’ gied us some grog if I warn’t sech a humble feller of my inches. Hey! theer’s a deal lost in this world by modest men like we." They shambled dolefully down the hill. Half-way down they were met by the boatswain and six seamen from the cutter. "Ahoy! mates," cried the boatswain, "have ye seen or heard anything of Mr. Mildmay?" "Neither heerd a cuss nor seed the tip o’s nose." "Ah well, then. I thought you might have, coming along by Mr. Trevanion’s house." "Ha’ ye seed or heerd anything o’ Maister Polwhele, now?" "Neither bowsprit nor whistle. No doubt he’s with our officer, dancing a hornpipe, or whatever they do at fine gentlemen’s parties." "No, he bean’t at Dower House. We’ve been to call for un. ’A told us he’d jine us on bridge when church-clock strook half-past nine."