I shall go along the hills on this side of
the river."
"You'd best let me come, sir, or you'll be wool-gatherin' and
wand'rin' about till goodness knows what time o' night."
"I shall be back by four o'clock."
"Stop a minnit, sir; I have et. I'll jest put that alarmin' clock o'
yourn in your tail-pocket an' set et to ha'f-arter-dree, an' that'll
put you in mind when 'tes time to come hom'. 'Tes a wonnerful
in-jine, this 'ere clock," reflected Caleb as he carefully set the
alarum, "an' chuck-full o' sense, like Malachi's cheeld. Lor',
what a thing es Science, as Jenifer said when her seed the
tellygrarf-clerk in platey buttons an' red facin's to his breeches.
Up the path, sir, an' keep to the left. Good-bye, sir! Now, I'd gie
summat," soliloquised Caleb as he watched his master ascend the hill,
"to be sure of seein' him back safe an' sound afore nightfall.
Aw dear! 'tes a terrable 'sponsible post, bein' teetotum to a babby!"
With this he walked back to the house, but more than once halted on
his way to ponder and shake his head ominously.
Mr. Fogo meanwhile, with easel and umbrella on his arm, climbed the
hill slowly and with frequent pauses to turn and admire the
landscape. It was the freshest of spring mornings: the short turf
was beaded with dew, the furze-bushes on either hand festooned with
gossamer and strung with mimic diamonds.
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