‘We’re told—­Perley an’ me—­as there’ll be miling_tary_,’ said Mrs. Perley, unmoved.  ’Leastways, they’ll bring a road-engine, Perley says, as’ll make short work o’ them gates.  And folks do say as they might even bring a tank along; you know, sir, as there’s plenty of ‘em, and not fur off.’  She nodded mysteriously towards a quarter, never mentioned in the neighbourhood, where these Behemoths of war had a training-ground.  ’And Perley and me, we can’t have nowt to do wi’ such things.  We wasn’t brought up to ’em.’

‘Well, if you go, you don’t come back!’ said the Squire, shaking a threatening hand.

‘Thank you, sir.  But there’s work for all on us nowadays,’ said the woman placidly.

Then the Squire, with Gregson’s help, set himself fiercely to the business.  In little more than an hour, and with the help of some pieces of rope, the gate had been firmly barricaded with hurdles and barbed wire, wicket-gate and all, and the Squire, taking a poster in large letters from his pocket, affixed it to the outside of the gate.  It signified to all and sundry that the Chetworth gate of Mannering Park could now only be opened by violence, and that those offering such violence would be proceeded against according to law.

When it was done, the Squire first addressed a few scathing words to the pair of park-keepers, who smoked imperturbably through them, and then transferred a pound-note to the ready palm of Gregson, who was, it seemed, on the point of accepting work as a stock-keeper from another of the Squire’s farmers—­a brother culprit, only less ‘hustled’ than himself by the formidable County Committee, which was rapidly putting the fear of God into every bad husbandman throughout Brookshire.  Then the Squire hurried off homewards.

His chief thought now was—­what would that most opinionated young woman at home say to him?  He was at once burning to have it out with her, and—­though he would have scorned to confess it—­nervous as to how he might get through the encounter.

* * * * *

Fate, however, ordained that his thoughts about the person who had now grown so important to his household should be affected, before he saw her again, from a new quarter.  The Rector, Mr. Pennington, quite unaware of the doughty deeds that had been done at the Chetworth gate, and coming from his own house which stood within the park enclosure, ran into the Squire at a cross-road.

The Squire looked at him askance, and kept his own counsel.  The Rector was a man of peace, and had once or twice tried to dissuade the Squire from his proposed acts of war.  The Squire, therefore, did not mean to discuss them with him.  But, in general, he and the Rector were good friends.  The Rector was a bit of a man of the world, and never attempted to put a quart into a pint-pot.  He took the Squire as he found him, and would have missed the hospitalities of the Hall—­or rather the conversation they implied—­if he had been obliged to forgo them.  The Squire on his side had observed with approval that the Rector was a fair scholar, and a bad beggar.  He could take up quotations from Horace, and he was content with such parish subscriptions as the Squire had given for twenty years, and was firmly minded not to increase.