"Who's that?" he asked quickly, stepping back a little: it was unusual to
meet anyone in the fields at so late an hour.
"Be that you, Measter Desmond?"
"Oh, 'tis you, Dickon. What are you doing this way at such an hour? You
ought to have been abed long ago."
"Ay, sure, Measter Desmond; but I be goin' to see squire," said the old
man, apparently with some hesitation.
"That's odd. So am I. We may as well walk together, then--for fear of the
ghosts, eh, Dickon?"
"I binna afeard o' ghosts, not I. True, 'tis odd I be goin' to see
squire. I feel it so. Squire be a high man, and I ha' never dared lift up
my voice to him oothout axen. But 'tis to be. I ha' summat to tell him,
low born as I be; ay, I mun tell him, cost what it may."
"Well, he's not a dragon. I have something to tell him too--cost what it
may."
There was silence for a space. Then Dickon said tremulously:
"Bin it a great matter, yourn, sir, I make bold to axe?"
"That's as it turns out, Dickon. But what is it with you, old man? Is
aught amiss?"
"Not wi' me, sir, not wi' me, thank the Lord above. But I seed ya,
Measter Desmond, t'other day, in speech win that--that Diggle as he do
call hisself, and--and I tell ya true, sir, I dunna like the looks on
him; no, he binna a right man; an' I were afeard as he med ha' bin
fillin' yer head wi' fine tales about the wonders o' the world an' all."
"Is that all, Dickon? You fear my head may be turned, eh? Don't worry
about me.
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