CHAPTER II.

GRIP AND BLAZER.

A LITTLE further on, the road emerged upon a green; and at the back of this green there was a farm. The house stood back behind the yard, which was hidden from view by tall bushes; and half inside the yard, half outside upon the green, was a pond, where ducks were swimming about in search of dainty bits.

This was the Manor Farm. The man who held it was the Squire's bailiff, Dick had heard his father say. He went up to the gate to look, rather wondering what sort of a thing it was to be bailiff to so great a man, and whether he had any boys.

A shaggy-looking dog, dozing in the sun before his kennel, sprang to his feet with a loud bark as Dick approached, rattling his chain and growling, as if to warn him not to come too near. Finding Dick paid no heed, he jumped up on his kennel and set, up barking so vociferously that another dog behind the house took up the cause. Next minute a servant, wondering what could be amiss, and probably suspecting tramps, opened a side door and came round the corner of the house to look. At the same instant, a man with a pitchfork in his hand appeared from the other corner of the house.

"Hey! Grip, old boy," called he; "what's up? You'll upset the firmament with your row."

Exactly what he meant by this it would be hard to say. He had caught the word up from the Bible, as something made "in the beginning," and therefore very "firm;" so probably it seemed to him the most that any one could do in the upsetting line.

Anyhow, the dog seemed to understand the rebuke. He gave one or two more barks, then jumped down off his kennel with an injured air; and: his colleague of the back premises, finding he was pacified, gave in too, and so the hubbub ceased.

"What was up wi' him?" said the man, coming a pace or two nearer, and resting on his pitchfork. "There's now't amiss, so fur's I can see." For Dick had left the gate, and gone to watch the ducks.

The servant shook her head. "Like his master," returned she; "always kicking up a fuss for nothing in the world. Some folks seem as if they can't be happy else; and quadrupeds is much the same, I s'pose."

"Belike," answered the man, with a laugh. "But if that's so, why, Blazer's the master's dog! My word! I wouldn't like to try his fangs; he'd tear the firmament to shreds."

With this characteristic remark, he shouldered his fork, and, turning on his heel, went back to his work in the rick-yard.

The servant stood a minute at the door looking about her; then she, too, turned and went inside, shutting to the door, but throwing up the window, as if this taste of sunshine had made her long for the free air.

Meanwhile Dick had reached the other gate; for the farmyard had an entrance at each side of the pond, so that carts could come in either way. Here he stopped again; but this time Grip took no notice beyond raising his nose off his paws a second or two and blinking, to show that he was awake; then he composed himself again, or pretended to—just to give the enemy a chance of showing his weak side. But Dick was not to be deceived that way, nor had he any thoughts of invading Master Grip's territory.

After standing still a few minutes, taking observations of the picturesque old house, with its latticed windows and its long, red-tiled, gabled roof, he was just about to go his way, when he was suddenly startled by a most unearthly whoop.

Before he had time to look round, a boy about his own size came full tear into the road a yard or two ahead. "Hullo!" cried he, perceiving Dick.

"Hullo!" responded Dick.

Then they stared at one another.

"Who are you?" asked Dick.

The other burst out laughing. "Who are you?" retorted he.

"Oh! It doesn't matter," answered Dick, a trifle proudly; "only—my father has just moved into the neighbourhood, and I suppose I shall have to get to know the boys; so I thought I might as well begin with you."

The other looked him over well from head to foot. Dick's father was a gentleman, and Dick was dressed accordingly. The other's father was a labourer upon the Manor Farm.

"My name's Dick Crozier," added Dick.

"And mine is Bill the Kicker," returned his new acquaintance.

"That is, your nickname," added Dick.

"Call it what you like; that's all the name I want," said Bill the Kicker in such a final manner that Dick said no more.

"Where do you live?" next asked he.

"Up yonder," answered Bill the Kicker, pointing backward with his thumb. "My father works for Farmer Bluff."

"And mine goes up to town every morning," rejoined Dick. "We live beyond the Manor House, up the hill."

This interchange of confidences was a pretty good basis for an acquaintance, and the two boys were soon engaged in a lively conversation.

"There's a hornets' nest up there," said Bill presently, jerking his thumb in the direction of the field. "I see one goin' in just now. I mean to sell it to the Squire's grandsons," added he, nodding to himself.

"What for?" asked Dick, who was a town-bred boy.

"For sport, of course," answered Bill promptly. "Squires always go in for sport. I reckon we shall have a game."

"Hornets are dangerous, aren't they?" said Dick doubtfully.

"It don't do to get stung," returned Bill; "but then you don't if you can help; and that's what makes the sport. I wonder," added Bill the Kicker, struck with an original thought, "who'd care to storm a flies' nest!—Supposin' that they made 'em, which they don't. And there again, you see," he added further, "flies don't make nests, because they haven't got to keep out of the way—" Which remark contained a wholesome moral, if he had but possessed the wit to see it.

Knowing nothing of such country matters, Dick naturally felt some respect for Bill the Kicker, who talked as if he had it all on good authority.

"Look here," proposed he presently; "tell me when the sport's to be."

Bill shook his head with a doubtful air.

"Why not?" asked Dick.

Bill the Kicker drew his mouth tight, stretching it almost from ear to ear, and shook his head again.

Dick held out a bait.

"I've got a goodish big-sized boat at home," said he persuasively. "I mayn't go near the river yet, but so soon as ever I get leave, I'll let you know."

Bill expressed considerable contempt for the idea of "getting leave;" however, he went so far as to say that when the sport was all arranged, he might see fit to make it known to Dick. "It's the Squire's grandsons, you see," said he importantly. "'Tisn't every one as I could introduce to them."

Dick rather wondered what it mattered whom Bill introduced, so long as it was somebody no lower than himself. But he promised to be in the way as often as he could; and Bill the Kicker, having duly warned him not to drop a word to any one, went off to find the Squire's grandsons and "sell the nest."

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