Ah, there were Dodge and Perley, the two park-keepers, one of whom lived in the White Lodge, now only a hundred yards away.  Another man who was standing by them, near the park wall, looked to the Squire like Gregson, his ejected farmer.  And who was that black-coated fellow coming through the small wicket-gate beside the big one?  What the devil was he doing in the park?  There was a permanent grievance in the Squire’s mind against the various rights-of-way through his estate.  Why shouldn’t he be at liberty to shut out that man if he wanted to?  Of course by the mere locking and barricading of the gates, as they would be locked and barricaded on the morrow, he was flouting the law.  But that was a trifle.  The gates were his own anyway.

The black-coated man, however, instead of proceeding along the road, had now approached the group of men standing under the wall, and was talking with them.  They themselves did not seem to be doing anything, although a large coil of barbed wire and a number of hurdles lay near them.

‘Hullo, Dodge!’

At the Squire’s voice the black-coated man withdrew a little distance to the roadway, where he stood watching.  Of the three others the two old fellows, ex-keepers both of them, stood sheepishly silent, as the Squire neared them.

‘Well, my men, good-morning!  What have you done?’ said the Squire peremptorily.

Dodge looked up.

‘We’ve put a bit of wire on the gate, Squoire, an’ fastened the latch of it up—­and we’ve put a length or two along the top of the wall,’ said the old man slowly—­’an’ then—­’ He paused.

’Then what?—­what about the hurdles?  I expected to find them all up by now!’

Dodge looked at Perley.  And Perley, a gaunt, ugly fellow, who had been a famous hunter and trapper in his day, took off his hat and mopped his brow, before he said, in a small, cautious voice, entirely out of keeping with the rest of him: 

’The treuth on it is, Squoire, we don’t loike the job.  We be afeard of their havin’ the law on us.’

‘Oh, you’re afraid, are you?’ said the Squire angrily. ’You won’t stand up for your rights, anyway!’

Perley looked at his employer a little askance.

’They’re not our rights, if you please, Muster Mannering.  We don’t have nothing to say to ‘un.’

’They are your rights, you foolish fellow!  If this abominable Government tramples on me to-day, it’ll trample on you to-morrow.’

‘Mebbe, Squoire, mebbe,’ said Perley mildly.  ’But Dodge and I don’t feel loike standing up to ‘un.  We was engaged to mind the roads an’ the leaves, an’ a bit rabbitin’, an’ sich like.  But this sort of job is somethin’ out o’ the common, Muster Mannering.  We don’t hold wi’ it.  The County they’ve got a powerful big road-engine, Squoire.  They’ll charge them gates to-morrow—­there ’ll be a terr’ble to do.  My wife, she’s frightened to death.  She’s got