Oh, I see it all! What likelier place could they
choose on the whole coast? And from here to Falmouth what is it but
a step?"
"Let them that be in Judaea flee to the mountains," said Arch'laus
Spry solemn-like.
"And me just home from Plymouth with a fine new roasting-jack!"
chimed in Mrs. Polwhele. "As though the day of wrath weren't bad
enough without that waste o' money! Run, Calvin--run and tell the
Vicar this instant--no, no, don't leave me behind! Take me home,
that's a good man: else I shall faint at my own shadow!"
Well, they hurried off to the Vicarage: but, of course, there was no
Parson to be found, for by this time he was half-way towards Little
Dinnis, and running like a madman under the hot sun to see what
damage had befallen his dearly-loved camp. The servants hadn't seen
him leave the house; ne'er a word could they tell of him except that
Martha, the cook, when she cleared away the breakfast things, had
left him seated in his chair and smoking.
"But what's the meaning of this?" cried out Mrs. Polwhele, pointing
to the tablecloth that Bligh had pulled all awry in his temper.
"And the window open too!"
"And--hallo!" says my grandfather, staring across the patch of turf
outside.
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