Why, I do believe--it's a turruble thing to say--that some of they lads at work at big dree-ern hevven't got no characters at all." "Here be Hickathrift a-coming wi' doctor," said John Warren.
And sure enough there was the doctor on his old cob coming along the fen road, with Hickathrift striding by his side, the man of powder and draught having been from home with a patient miles away when Hickathrift reached the town, and not returning till five o'clock.
"He'll do right enough, squire," said the doctor.

"Young man like he is soon mends a hole in his flesh.

You did quite right; but I suppose the bandaging was young Dick's doing, for of all the clumsy bungling I ever saw it was about the worst." Dick gave his eye a peculiar twist in the direction of his father, who was giving him a droll look, and then they both laughed.
"Very delicately done, doctor," said the squire.

"There, Dick, as he has put it on your shoulders you may as well bear it." "Ah, let him!" said the doctor.

"Now, what are you going to do ?" he said aloud; "catch the scoundrel who shot Mr Marston, and get him transported for life ?" "That's what ought to be done to him," said John Warren solemnly, as he looked straight away over the fen.
"Ay," said Dave.