Bing threw out both hands. "They lay bloody eggs! And those eggs turn into chicks, and those chicks turn into chickens, and those chickens lay more bloody eggs! I be so blasted sick of eatin' eggs and chicken that I would sell you and that damned dog both for a single bite of bacon!"

His outburst done, Bing let his arms fall to his sides and gave a great gusting sigh. "Aye then, lad," he said with resignation. "Time to feed t' chickens."

After depositing the grain in flat pans and scattering a bit around the coops, Bing gave each of the pails an extra thwack on the bottom to make sure they were empty. "We've got a well up to t' house, but it's a good time to fill the water barrels in the stable. Since I've got your young arms to do the haulin', we'll head down to t' river." Bing gave him a fierce look from beneath his bushy brows. "Mind you say so if you start feelin' poorly. Missus will be that upset with me if I work you too hard."

Lysander replied by taking up several pails in each hand and started off toward the river.

Bing followed him, spry on the path despite his rather rollicking limp.

They reached the river and after removing his coat and boots, Lysander waded in a bit deeper to access the clearest water. The current ran faster in the center, dark and swift. The farther Lysander stepped in, the more he could feel the tug of the current trying to pull the buckets from his hands as he filled them. Methodically, he filled every single bucket and set it neatly in a row on the bank while Bing perched on a tree stump and Topknot lurched back and forth along the bank as if worried that Lysander would cross the river without her.

"I can see you like to finish a task once ye've started it." Bing nodded approvingly, although Lysander took the compliment with a grain of salt, considering that Bing seemed quite happy not to wet his own boots.

Lysander heard a splash and glanced over his shoulder but he saw nothing untoward. Then he realized he could not see Topknot anywhere. He dropped the last bucket without caring that it sloshed his dry boots and took off at a run along the downstream bank. Dogs could swim perfectly well, he knew that. Four-legged dogs could swim perfectly well. He kept his eye on the rippling surface as he ran. Surely there would be some sign?

He saw a black nose break the surface accompanied by the merest flash of white-tipped paw. Lysander made a leap from the bank that landed him just ahead of that spot. He dove under the water. It was clear and green when he opened his eyes, casting this way and that as he let the current carry him.