I fair tried to
scrag 'un. But Mr. Dale he druv at me wi' 's fist, and kep' a bunching
me off wi' 's knees, and then when all the wind and the wickedness was
gone out o' me, he tuk me behind th' scruff a' the neck and just
paddled me along like a dummy."
At this point Veale would pause to laugh, before continuing. "Nor that
wasn't all, nether. So soon as Mr. Dale catched his own breath he give
me th' artificial respreation--saved my life second time when they'd
lugged us on the bank. I was gone for a ghost; but I do hear--as
they'll tell 'ee at th' mill--Mr. Dale he knelt acrost me a
pump-handling my arms, pulling of my tongue, and bellows-blowing my
ribs for a clock hour;" and Veale would laugh again, spit on the
ground, and conclude his story. "Quaarts an' quaarts of waater they
squeedged out of me afore the wind got back in--an' I don't seem's if
I'd ever get free o' the taste o' that waater. Nothing won't settle
it, no matter how 'ard I do try."
The gentry who smilingly listened, knowing Veale for a queer rustic
character of poor repute, gave him sixpences to assist in his efforts
to quench an abnormal thirst. Talking together, they decided that the
hero of the tale had done rather a fine thing in a very unostentatious
way, and it occurred to several of them that pluck ought to be
rewarded.
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