"Oh no," said Mr. Enderby; "he has only to return to his plough."

"Hollo there!" shouted Walter. "Come in, Diggory, and show
yourself."

In came Diggory, an awkward thick-set fellow, with a shock head of
hair, high leathern gaiters, and a buff belt over his rough leathern
jerkin. There he stood, pulling his forelock, and looking sheepish.

"Come in, Diggory," said his mistress; "I am glad to see you safe.
You need not be afraid of these gentlemen. Where are the rest?"

"Slain, every man of them, an't please your ladyship."

"And your master, Mr. Woodley?"

"Down, too, an't please your ladyship."

Lucy screamed aloud; Eleanor ran to her mother, and hid her face in
her lap; Charles sat staring, with great round frightened eyes. Very
distressing it was to be obliged to leave the poor children in such
grief and alarm, when it was plain all the time that Diggory was an
arrant coward, who had fancied more deaths and dangers than were
real, and was describing more than he had even thought he beheld, in
order to make himself into a hero instead of a runaway. Moreover,
Lady Woodley and Rose had to put on a show of grief, lest they should
betray that they were better informed; and they were in agonies lest
Walter's fury at the falsehoods should be as apparent to their guests
as it was to themselves.