Part 95 (2/2)
”Dreaming, Nat?”
”I mean, I've been all in a squabble, with things mixed up in my head, and people talking to me, and rabbits squealing, and Master Scar shouting 'Nat,' I aren't asleep now, are I?”
”Asleep now, Nat? No, no, my dear old fellow,” cried Scarlett, whose voice sounded thick with emotion. ”But you are badly hurt eh?”
”Well, tidy, Master Scar, tidy. They give it to me pretty well. But I'm better now, dear lad; I'm better now. Oh, oh, I say, Master Scar, lad, hit me in both eyes hard. I'm so weak I'm going to blubber like a gal.”
”No, no, my dear old Nat,” whispered Scarlett. ”Keep up, man, keep up.
I want you to help me.”
”Help you, Master Scarlett? Why, I don't believe I could even pull my sword out of its sheath!”
”But you will soon, Nat,” whispered Scarlett, eagerly. ”I want your help. My father is wounded, and in hiding close by here.”
”The master?”
”Yes, yes.”
”Sir G.o.dfrey?”
”Yes, yes, Nat; badly wounded. We were nearly burned in the fire, when the Hall was in a blaze; but we got out, and he is badly wounded, and I was going to try and get food.”
”Oh, if that's it,” said Nat, feebly, ”it's time there was an end to all this nonsense. Here, give's a hand, Master Scar. I must get up.”
The poor fellow made an effort, then sank back with a groan.
”Pitchforks and skewers!” he muttered. ”Didn't that go through one.”
”Lie still, Nat.”
”Needn't be afraid, Master Scar,” groaned the poor fellow, with a comical look in his young master's face. ”I don't think I shall get up yet.”
”No; lie still. I'm going to try and steal away to the Manor.”
”Eh? Then if you come across my brother Samson, you knock him down, sir. Don't you hesitate a moment. Knock him down.”
”Nonsense! Now look here.”
”Oh yes, sir, I'm a-looking,” said Nat, dismally; ”and a pretty dirty face you've got.”
”What do you mean?”
”Why, it's all black, as if you'd been--”
”Why, Master Scar, what yer been a-doing to your hair?”
”Hair? My hair?”
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