On Sunday, they rather studied how to keep their men within call,
and in full hope, than to follow out, by any fierce measure, their first
day's proceedings.
'I hope,' said Dennis, as, with a loud yawn, he raised his body from
a heap of straw on which he had been sleeping, and supporting his head
upon his hand, appealed to Hugh on Sunday morning, 'that Muster Gashford
allows some rest? Perhaps he'd have us at work again already, eh?'
'It's not his way to let matters drop, you may be sure of that,' growled
Hugh in answer. 'I'm in no humour to stir yet, though. I'm as stiff as
a dead body, and as full of ugly scratches as if I had been fighting all
day yesterday with wild cats.'
'You've so much enthusiasm, that's it,' said Dennis, looking with great
admiration at the uncombed head, matted beard, and torn hands and face
of the wild figure before him; 'you're such a devil of a fellow. You
hurt yourself a hundred times more than you need, because you will be
foremost in everything, and will do more than the rest.'
'For the matter of that,' returned Hugh, shaking back his ragged hair
and glancing towards the door of the stable in which they lay; 'there's
one yonder as good as me.
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