JOHN HERRING by SABINE BARING GOULD Unabridged

'My name,' said he, stepping forward, 'is John Herring.' He was interrupted by a laugh from Mirelle.'Herring!' she exclaimed, 'Quel dr#65533;le de nom! That is a fish they split and pickle, and pack in barrels, is it not?' The young man coloured.'The name is bourgeois-Herring!'The young gentleman drew back, wounded. He said nothing more about himself, but asked Mr. Battishill in a low voice for a lantern.'The trunks and portmanteaus are lying with the broken chaise, and I must see to...
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'My name,' said he, stepping forward, 'is John Herring.' He was interrupted by a laugh from Mirelle.'Herring!' she exclaimed, 'Quel dr#65533;le de nom! That is a fish they split and pickle, and pack in barrels, is it not?' The young man coloured.'The name is bourgeois-Herring!'The young gentleman drew back, wounded. He said nothing more about himself, but asked Mr. Battishill in a low voice for a lantern.'The trunks and portmanteaus are lying with the broken chaise, and I must see to their being placed under shelter and in security. Are there men about the premises who can assist me?''There will be some difficulty about finding a man,' answered Mr. Battishill. 'We do not keep one in the house, and the cottages are at a distance. You will not find your way to them by night. Do not trouble about the trunks; leave them till morning. No one will touch them.''I prefer removing them. When the post-boy returns from Okehampton with the doctor, I will secure his assistance.'Cicely had lighted a lantern whilst her father was speaking. She offered it to John Herring. 'I will go for you to the cottages,' she said; 'I will send some men to help you.' She accompanied him to the door. 'It is quite right that the things should not be left out all night on the moor. There are tramps on the Exeter road, and the Cobbledicks are close by.' She opened the door, and the light fell on Joyce.'Why, Joyce, you here still? I thought you had gone back to the Giant's Table.''If I were to go back to vaither, he'd kill me. I ha' lost he his old barril, and him won't sleep under the table a'cos mother be there wi' her playful ways, tormenting of he.''What do you mean, Joyce?''I means this, miss. His barril be rolled away down hill, and I dunnow where her be rolled to. Where be vaither to sleep?''Under the Giant's Table.''That won't do, 'cos o' mother. Her be lively o' nights when vaither be there. 'Tain't wickedness, it be her playful ways. Her leaves me alone right enough. But vaither won't go there. Now if he might sleep i' one o' your linnies, he'd be right vast enough as a nail in a door.''By all means let him sleep there, Joyce, at least for a while, till you can recover the cask.''Then I can go back to he. If I hadn't that to say, he'd ha' killed me. Now he'll go snuggle into the straw like a heckamall in a rick. That's beautiful!''Joyce,' said Cicely, 'this gentleman is going to the broken carriage. Perhaps you can assist him to remove some of the trunks. They must not be left out where they are.''There be some scatt right abroad,' answered Joyce; 'I seed mun, and the things be coming out like.''More the reason why they should be collected and brought under cover.''I'll go right on end,' said Joyce. 'And vaither may sleep in the linney?''Yes, he may.''Oh, rallaluley, he'll be glad!'So Joyce led the way, followed by Herring, and Miss Cicely Battishill went in quest of assistance.When Herring and Joyce reached the scene of the accident, they discovered Old Grizzly hopping about amidst the wreck, pulling the pieces of the broken carriage apart. He had made some clearance in the confusion, but not from disinterested motives. Everything in the shape of cushion and cloak had disappeared, and the old wrecker was engaged in collecting chips of the broken wood for firing.John Herring did not notice particularly what he was about; it was too dark to distinguish much. He went directly to the boxes.Of his own goods there was little to take care of save one valise, and that was safe. The rest of the trunks and portmanteaus belonged to Mr. Strange and his daughter. The trunks lay, some still corded, on the top of the chaise; others thrown off, one with its lock sprung. This box had either been very much shaken by the fall, or Grizzly's arm had been turning it over, for the lid would no longer close over the confused and overflowing contents.