Jimmy was not worth three guineas, let alone three hundred, but when the keeper had mercifully ended the poor brute's sufferings with a cartridge, and hurried on to his appointment, he left old Thatcher heart-broken beside the body of his faithful servant. 'I dunno what I'm goin' to do now!' cried the poor old fellow to the scouts, who remained at his side to see what help they could render. 'Ye see, wi' Jimmy to help me I've med a few shillin's a week, doin' a bit o' higgling an' odd jobs in carryin' light things. That's kept me out o' the Work'us. But I'm a lost man now. There's nowt but the Union for me, I doubt. An' I've fowt hard to keep out o' that.' The scouts tried to console him, but the loss of his donkey was a heavy blow to the old higgler. 'Where am I goin' to get another?' he said. 'I'm a bit short-handed now wi' my rent, for I've been ill a good bit on an' off last winter. Eight-an'-twenty shillin' I gave for Jimmy; an' I ain't got eight-an'-twenty fardens to spare.' He heaved a bitter sigh, and began to strip the harness off the companion of his daily journeys. The scouts helped, and the harness was tossed into the little cart. That had escaped very well in the overset: one shaft was cracked, and that was all. 'Joseph Thatcher, Little Eston,' read Dick, from the side of the cart. 'Ay, that's me,' said the higgler. 'Joe Thatcher: lived in Little Eston all my life.' 'And you were on your road home?' went on Dick. 'Just comin' back from town,' replied the old man. 'I'd been wi' a load of butter an' fowls an' what-not for two or three neighbours, an' left the things at different shops. An' now I must get my cart home somehow an' tell my neighbours what's happened.' 'I see,' said Chippy. 'That's aw' right. I'll run yer cart home for ye.' 'Yes,' said Dick; 'we'll soon run it home for you.' 'No, yer don't,' said the Raven to his friend. 'Ye'll stop here an' tek' care o' the traps till I get back;' and with these words he whipped off haversack and jacket, and tossed them on to the bank. 'Oh, that won't do, Chippy,' cried Dick; 'that's just a trick to prevent me lending a hand.' 'Trick or no trick, it's just wot 'ull happen,' said the Raven firmly. 'It's rather more'n two miles back to Eston--that's four goin' an' comin', an' you wi' a game foot. No, not an inch back do ye stir. Besides, it gies me the chance to strip to the work nice an' comfortable.' 'But you can't shift that cart by yourself,' cried Dick. Chippy uttered a grunt of scorn. 'There's nothing in it 'cept the harness,' he said. 'Can't shift that, eh?' He took the shafts and ran the cart into the way as if it had been a big wheelbarrow: there was surprising strength in his slight but sinewy figure. 'Come on, gaffer!' cried Chippy, and he trundled the cart rapidly away down the road, leaving Dick on guard perforce beside his comrade's equipment. Within three-quarters of an hour Chippy was back, travelling at scout's pace.