One sentence of explanation sufficed.
"What!" cried Mr.Pole, "do you think you can milk a cow twice in ten minutes ?" Several of the Hillford men acknowledged that it would be rather sharp work.
Their case was stated: whereupon Mr.Pole told them that he had just been 'milked,' and regretted it, but requested them to see that he could not possibly be equal to any second proceeding of the sort.

On their turning to consult together, he advised them to bear it with fortitude.
"All right, sir!" they said: and a voice from the ranks informed him that their word was 'Jolly.' Then a signal was given, and these indomitable fellows cheered the lord of Brookfield as lustily as if they had accomplished the feat of milking him twice in an hour.

Their lively hurrahs set him blinking in extreme discomposure of spirit, and he was fumbling at his pocket, when the drum a little precipitately thumped: the ranks fell into order, and the departure was led by the tune of the 'King of the Cannibal islands:' a tune that is certain to create a chorus on the march.

On this occasion, the line:-- "Oh! didn't you know you were done, sir ?" became general at the winding up of the tune.

Boys with their elders frisked as they chimed it, casting an emphasis of infinite relish on the declaration 'done'; as if they delighted in applying it to Mr.Pole, though at their own expense.
Soon a verse grew up:-- "We march'd and call'd on Mister Pole, Who hadn't a penny, upon his soul, For Ipley came and took the whole, And didn't you know you were done, sir!" I need not point out to the sagacious that Hillford and not Mr.Pole had been 'done;' but this was the genius of the men who transferred the opprobrium to him.