CHAPTER VI.

THE YOUNG SQUIRE.

ON going, as usual, before answering the doorbell, to peep through the little window in the china closet, Elspeth was not a little surprised; for there, on the seat in the porch, his crutches on either side of him, sat the young Squire, resting.

He was examining a leaf-bud on a tendril of the honeysuckle when she first caught sight of him; but directly the door opened, he got to his feet, inquiring for Farmer Bluff.

Elspeth at once invited him to enter. "A message from the Squire, sir?" asked she, as she closed the door behind him.

Elspeth knew all about the nature of the Squire's business with her master on the previous morning, for the old sinner, in his rage and vexation, had drunk more beer than ever, and had used more bad language than enough about it, whenever she had had occasion to go near him. She was not sure, moreover, how his dismissal would affect her own prospects, for he would be in receipt of less money; and ill as he could do without her help, in his frequently crippled condition, it was very doubtful whether the miserly old fellow would choose to draw upon his hoard in order to pay her the usual wages.

In that case, much as Elspeth disliked the idea of breaking away from the old place, she was determined to seek her fortune elsewhere; for it need hardly be said that Farmer Bluff was not the sort of master to win the affection of a dependant.

"For money," and not "for love," had been Elspeth's rule of service. Having, however, one or two cronies in the neighbourhood, from whom she did not care to part, she was fain to entertain a half hope that Hal might have been sent round to negotiate a compromise.

But Hal was not disposed to divulge the purpose of his visit.

"I want to see Farmer Bluff, if you please," said he, "if he's up. If not, perhaps you could take me to his room. I daresay he wouldn't mind."

Farmer Bluff was up, though, as Elspeth promptly informed the young gentleman; and, stepping to the parlour door, she flung it open, announcing, "The young Squire, sir."

Farmer Bluff, as it happened, was in a brown study, leaning forward on the elbows of his chair, with his eyes fixed on the fire. Not catching the first two words of Elspeth's announcement, he looked up with a start, expecting to see his master come to torment him again. His relief can best be imagined when, instead of meeting the penetrating gaze of the Squire, his eye fell upon the slight form of Hal, with his frank, boyish face all abeam to greet him, as he swung himself across the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Bluff," said he pleasantly. "I'm glad to find you up. You ought to be out this fine weather. You're missing ever so much, so I thought I'd come and have a chat with you about it."

"And make me want all the more to be out," said the old farmer, doing his best to assume a pleasant manner. But his thoughts, ever since Elspeth landed him in that chair, had been of such la disagreeable nature, that he found it quite impossible, all in a minute, to shake the growl out of his tone.

"I'm glad my legs don't prevent me getting out," said Hal, contemplating the bandaged limb with compassion, as he seated himself opposite, and lodged his crutches against his chair.

"You're not of a gouty age yet, young master," returned Farmer Bluff. "It'd be sorry work to have it at your time of life."

"It isn't everybody has it when they're old," said Hal. "My grandfather doesn't. I don't think I shall."

"Maybe not," returned Farmer Bluff. "'One thing at a time' is the saying. You've got your share in the way of legs."

"But I mean," explained Hal, determined to make this the thin end of his wedge; "I mean that I shall take care not to have it."

Bluff laughed—a cynical sort of laugh.

"You'll have to take pretty much what comes," croaked he.

"But some things don't come," said Hal.

"You don't send for 'em," returned the bailiff, with another laugh. "That's very certain; not such things as gout."

"Don't you?" said Hal. "It seems to me you do. Beer makes gout, doesn't it? You're always drinking beer."

The bailiff involuntarily reached out for his mug; but it was empty—which went to prove the truth of what Hal said. Farmer Bluff drank beer so often that he hardly knew when he did it.

"It may be partly owing to that mug," continued Hal, after a few minutes' consideration. "You're rather proud of it, you see. I think that's natural. But, do you know, if I had a mug that made me have the gout, I'd send it to the smith's to be melted down and made into something else. Let me see—you might have it converted into a silver inkhorn, like my grandfather's. You couldn't drink out of that."

"That's certain," returned the bailiff, amused in spite of himself.

"Well, will you think about it?" said Hal. "Because that's what I came about. You see, if you go on having gout, you can't go on being bailiff. My grandfather says so. It's one or the other; and it's quite fair, if you come to look at it. You're no bailiff if you have to sit with your leg up on a cushion all day like that; because you ought to be out and about the estate, seeing after things. And if it's your own fault that you can't, why, there's no doubt about it's being just; is there?"

Farmer Bluff shifted on his chair. He knew Hal was quite right. And Hal had brought out his arguments very warily too. First, that the gout was of the old fellow's own seeking; second, that being gouty, he couldn't attend to his business, and had clearly no right to be bailiff; and third, that this being so, he stood self-condemned, and could in nowise complain if the Squire turned him out.

Hal knew this very well, and was not surprised at getting no answer to his question. "I think I'll go now," said he, taking his crutches. "It's a beautiful morning. I wish you could be out of doors."

Farmer Bluff reached out for the bell, but Hal stopped him. "You needn't ring for the servant," said he. "I can get out all right by myself; and I daresay she's busy. When you have to wait on any one who can't move much, I should think it gives you a lot to do."

So the old farmer left the bell alone.

"I'm very much obliged to you for looking in, Master Hal," said he, as the boy did not attempt to go.

"I'll come again," said he, "if you like it. There's one thing more I was thinking. It's in the Bible. 'Thou hast destroyed thyself.' I don't remember who it was, but I've got the words in my head somehow. It's a pity to destroy yourself, isn't it?—Because there are so many ways that you can't help, of getting destroyed."

Farmer Bluff shifted again; and Hal, resting on his crutches, looked as if he very much wished he knew how to go on. But it was rather difficult, especially when the old fellow didn't make any reply.

At length, he put his right crutch forward, preparatory to moving on. "Well, good morning, Mr. Bluff," said he. "Don't forget about the mug; and I hope your gout will be better. I should like you to go on being bailiff when I'm Squire, because I'm used to you, and strangers aren't so nice. Good morning."

And away went the crutches across the floor, with their measured tap, tap, whilst the old bailiff sat looking after him with an astonished expression on his face; and when Hal, halting to turn the door-handle, gave him a last bright nod, he nodded too, twice or thrice. Then he twisted himself round in his chair, to watch the boy across the yard. But Hal went first to pay his respects to Grip, and peep round the corner of the house at Blazer. Catching sight of the old man through the window as he passed, however, he approached and put his face close to the glass.

"Don't forget the mug!" called he.

Whereupon Farmer Bluff, too much astonished even to nod, took the empty heirloom in his hand, turning it over and over, and falling back again into a brown study.

Out in the road again, Hal looked about for Dick. But he was nowhere to be seen. Dick was one of those people who find time hang very heavy when they have to wait; and seeking temporary diversion, he had completely forgotten his appointment with Hal.

Just past the farmyard was a pathway over the fields, behind the orchard and back premises; and having perched himself upon the stile to wait, it occurred to Dick to wonder where it led to. No sooner wondered than both Dick's legs were over the top-rail, and, jumping down, he started off to see for himself, whistling as he went.

Now, these back premises were Blazer's especial charge; and such a vigilant sentinel was Blazer, that he no sooner heard the sound of Dick's whistle than he was up in arms.

Dick came to a halt, remembering the character he had heard of the beast from Bill the Kicker's father. But at that very moment, who should appear from behind the orchard but Bill himself.

"Hullo!" called he.

Whereupon Blazer barked more furiously than ever.

Blazer had his own reasons for mistrusting the sound of Bill the Kicker's voice.

"Ain't he sharp!" said Bill. "He smells you out if you creep by ever so quiet."

Dick nodded. "What about the hornets' nest?" asked he eagerly.

But Bill put him off with a half answer. The fact was he had been in too much of a hurry in proclaiming it a nest, and it had turned out to be no such thing.

Meanwhile, Blazer had not ceased barking.

"Rather a dangerous animal, isn't he?" suggested Dick.

"I shouldn't care to meet him out for a walk," returned Bill.

"Is he near the hedge?" asked Dick.

"Agen' the back door," answered Bill. "You ain't afraid of him?" added he, with a grin.

"Why, no," said Dick, ashamed to own the contrary. "Lots of people go this way, I expect."

"In course," returned Bill; "else what's the pathway for? Nobody takes any notice of Blazer. My eye, though, ain't he wild if you get through the hedge!"

Dick inquired if Bill was ever guilty of such a thing.

Bill answered by a mysterious nod and the word "apples," accompanied by a jerk of his thumb towards the orchard. "You have to look out when there's nobody about, though," said he; "else he'd bring 'em out like a shot with his row. To see him, you'd think he'd break his chain."

"It's too strong I should think," said Dick, with a feeling, however, that it would be preferable to go without the apples rather than risk meeting Blazer off the chain.

"He got loose the other day, though," returned Bill. "Killed a goose, and made old Bluff so mad. Old Bluff always reckons to get a lot by his geese; and now there's a whole setting spoilt. Thirteen short for market next Christmas," added Bill knowingly.

Dick knew nothing about geese. He made numerous inquiries concerning their nesting and hatching, all of which country-bred Bill was able to answer in detail.

"They lay pretty big eggs I should think," said Dick, recollecting an ostrich egg which he had seen in a South African uncle's cabinet.

"Oh don't they!" responded Bill. "A dinner and a half for a chap. I often help myself when there's no one about."

Dick, instead of being shocked, looked rather envious of Bill's experience.

"I daresay I could get you one," hinted Bill obligingly. "They're worth a shilling each; but as it won't cost me nothing but the trouble, I'll say sixpence to you."

Dick thought that a good deal. Sixpences were not very handy in finding their way to his pockets for his father was by no means rich. The prospect was tempting, however; and not knowing that the sum named was full double the ordinary market price, he at once closed with the offer.

"When am I to have it?" asked he eagerly.

But this Bill was not prepared to say. It depended on so many things; on Blazer, on Elspeth, on his father, and on the geese. So Dick must needs be content with a conditional promise that at some time or other, within the shortest possible limit, he should be in possession of the coveted delicacy.

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