I should have liked to do it, and it was on my lips, but the barrel would have said no, I'm sure.

Good-night!" "Now, sir," said the squire as soon as he was alone with his son, "what have you got to say for yourself ?" "Say, father!" replied Dick, staring.
"Yes, sir.

Don't you think you did about as mad and absurd a thing as the man who put his head into the lion's jaws ?" "I--I didn't know, father," replied Dick, who, after the exultation caused by the cheering, felt quite crestfallen.
"No, of course you did not, but it was a very reckless thing to do, and--er--don't--well, I hope you will never have cause to do it again." Dick went away, feeling as if his comb had been cut, and of course he did not hear his father's words that night when he went to bed.
"Really, mother, I don't know whether I felt proud of the boy or vexed when he faced that great human ox." "I do," said Mrs Winthorpe smiling, but with the tears in her eyes--"proud." "Yes, I think I did," said the squire.

"Good-night!" "Don't you think some one ought to sit up with Mr Marston ?" "No: he is sleeping like a top; and after our bad time with him yesternight, I mean to have some sleep." Five minutes after, the squire's nose proclaimed that it was the hour of rest, and Dick heard it as he stole from his bed-room, to see how the wounded man was; and this act he repeated at about hourly intervals all through the night, for he could not sleep soundly, his mind was so busy with trouble about the injury to their visitor's arm, and the wonder which kept working in his brain.

Who was it fired that shot?
The doctor was right; the wounded man's arm soon began to mend; but naturally there was a period when he was unable to attend to his duties, and that period was a pleasant one for Dick Winthorpe, inasmuch as it was the commencement of a long friendship.
John Marston was for going back to his lodgings near the outfall or _gowt_ as it was termed; but the squire and Mrs Winthorpe would not hear of it, and to the boys' great delight, he stayed.
He was an invalid, but the right kind of invalid to make a pleasant companion, for he loved the open air, and was never happier than when he was out with the boys and Dave or John Warren, somewhere in the fen.
"It's all gammon to call him ill, and for the doctor to keep coming," said Tom Tallington.
"Oh, he is ill!" said Dick; "but you see he's only ill in one arm." Dick had only to propose a run out, and John Marston immediately seemed to forget that he was a man, became a boy for the time being, and entered into the spirit of their pursuits.
One day it was pike-fishing, with Dave to punt them about here and there among the pools.