A knife lay between his wide-planted feet, and a visgy[1] close behind him on a heap of disturbed sand.
The boy came on them from the eastward, and his shadow fell across the hollow.
"Hullo!" said one of the riders, looking up.

It was Squire Moyle himself.

"Here's the new Passon's boy!" All the riders looked up.

The Whip looked up too, and turned to the old Squire with a wider grin than before.
"Shall I christen en, maister ?" The Squire nodded.

Before Taffy knew what it meant, the man was climbing toward him with a grin, clutching the rush bents with one hand, and holding out the blood-dabbled mask with the other.
The child turned to run, but a hand clutched his ankle.