"There was certainly more art in it than the village folks are capable of," said the Vicar. "By——dear me! I am forgetting myself, but it brings back to me the pranks we played at Oxford. I remember——but there, that’s best told on a week-day. You’ll find it hard to prove anything against John Trevanion, my friends." "That’s the cunning of the villain," said Mr. Mildmay. "But I’ll keep a lynx-eye on him for the future, and my gentleman will overreach himself one of these days. No doubt he made a fine haul last night." "He did so," said Penwarden, who had remained in the background. "The carriers made five trips betwixt the cave and the well, and though I couldn’ see ’em, I reckon they ran summat nigh two-hundred tubs." "Bless my soul, where do you spring from, Joe?" cried the riding-officer. "Ah, sir, there be no spring left in my aged frame. I bean’t what I was in my young days, when I served wi’ Lord Admiral Rodney. But I’m not dead yet, thanks to Maister Dick, and I’ll be on duty to-morrer, sir, same as ever." "Come, Joe," said the Vicar, "we must hear all about it. I own I almost forgot where I was when I saw you tramp up the aisle just now." "The Squire’s lady did say I wasn’t to get up, Pa’son, but when I woked and found ’em all gone-along to church, I couldn’t bide wi’out goin’ up to the House of the Lord like holy David, and givin’ my humble and hearty thanks to the Almighty." He related how, at dead of night, he had been hauled from his bed by half-a-dozen masked figures, carried to the well, let down in a basket, and taken to the place where Dick had found him. "’Twas that ’nation rascal Doubledick at the bottom of it," he said. "When I laid there flat on a plank, wi’ a blanket atween my teeth, and a gashly ache in every inch o’ my body, I could ha’ borne it all like a holy martyr, but for the villain’s tormentin’ mouth-speech. ’A tried his best to change his tone o’ voice, but I knowed un through it all. ’You be agoin’ on yer travels,’ says he. ’’Tis uncommon spry in ’ee at yer time o’ life, wonderful brave in a old aged feller. And ye’ll lay yer bones in a furrin grave, wheer ye’ll bide till Judgment Day, and when the trump wakes ’ee and they axe ’ee what be doin’ in a strange heathen land, ye’ll have to tell, ’twas because ye couldn’t keep yer tongue from evil speakin’, nor yer hands from pickin’ and stealin’. Ah! ’tis a sorrerful sight to see a old ancient like ’ee goin’ the way to everlastin’ bonfire for sech ungodly deeds.’ So ’a went on a-rantin’ and ravin’ till I come nigh bustin’ wi’ the rage inside me. But I reckon he sings another tune now. ’Tis he hev gone on his travels, and he dussn’t show his face here no more, for ’twill be transportation if he do."