The man gaped stupidly at the unharnessing of his beast, and began to pump up for another protest.
But before the words were ready, Mr Armstrong had led the horse out of the shafts and had vaulted on his bare back.
"Eh," sputtered Hodder, "may I--" "Good-bye and thanks," said the tutor, clapping his heels to the animal's flanks; "you shall have him back safe." And he plunged away, leaving the gaping son of the soil, with his half- crown in his hand, to the laborious task of hoisting his lower jaw back into its normal position.
Dr Brandram, in whose medical preserves Maxfield Manor lay, was solacing himself with an after-dinner pipe in his little cottage at Yeld, when the tutor, crusted in snow from head to foot, broke unceremoniously on his privacy.

An intuition told the doctor what was the matter before even his visitor could say-- "The Squire has had a stroke.

Come at once." The doctor put down his pipe, and, with a sigh, kicked off his cosy slippers.
"He has chosen a bad night, Armstrong.

How are the roads ?" "A foot deep.

Shall you drive or ride ?" "I never ride." "You'll need both horses to get through, and I can lend you a spent third." "Thank you.