“He’s an inveterate poacher.  A good thing to give him no further excuse to hang about the place.  What do you propose to do?”

“Compensate him, burn the gorse, cut the bracken, and plant larch.  There are enough picturesque commons on the top of the hill, where the soil is poor, and land is cheap.  We don’t want them in the valley.  Now I propose to give our minds to the restoration of the house, the drains, the stables, and the home farm.  Here are my estimates.”

Though Mr. Crawley was so loyal a supporter of the regent of Barracombe, yet John’s projected improvements were far too thorough-going to gain the approval of the pottering old retainers of the Crewys family, though they were unable to question his knowledge or his judgment.

“I telled ’im tu du things by the littles,” said the woodman, who was kept at work marking trees and saplings as he had never worked before; though John was generous of help, and liberal of pay.  “But lard, he bain’t one tu covet nobody’s gude advice.  I was vair terrified tu zee arl he knowed about the drees.  The squoire ’ee wur like a babe unbarn beside ’un.  He lukes me straight in the eyes, and ‘Luke,’ sezzee, ’us ‘a’ got tu git the place in vamous arder vur young Zur Peter,’ sezzee, ‘An’ I be responsible, and danged but what ‘a’ll du’t,’ ‘ee zays.  An’ I touched my yead, zo, and I zays, ‘Very gude, zur,’ ’a zays.  ‘An’ zo ‘twill be, yu may depend on’t.’”

Perhaps the unwonted stir and bustle, the coming and going of John Crewys, the confusion of workmen, the novel interest of renovating and restoring the old house, helped to brace and fortify Lady Mary during the months which followed; months, nevertheless, of suspense and anxiety, which reduced her almost to a shadow of her former self.

For Peter’s career in South Africa proved an adventurous one.

He had the good luck to distinguish himself in a skirmish almost immediately after his arrival, and to win not only the approval of his noble relative and commander, but his commission.  His next exploit, however, ended rather disastrously, and Peter found himself a prisoner in the now historic bird-cage at Pretoria, where he spent a dreary, restless, and perhaps not wholly unprofitable time, in the society of men greatly his superior in soldierly and other qualities.

John feared that his mother’s resolution not to follow her boy must inevitably be broken when the news of his capture reached Barracombe; but perhaps Peter’s letters had repeated the peremptory injunctions of his telegram, for she never proposed to take the journey to South Africa.

The wave of relief and thankfulness that swept over the country, when the release of the imprisoned officers became known, restored not a little of Lady Mary’s natural courage and spirits.  She became more hopeful about her son, and more interested daily in the beautifying and restoration of his house.

She said little in her letters to Peter of the work at Barracombe, for John advised her that the boy would probably hardly understand the necessity for it, and she herself was doubtful of Peter’s approval even if he had understood.  She had too much intelligence to be doubtful of John’s wisdom, or of Mr. Crawley’s zeal for his interest.