And the owl—­he goes—­“Hoo-hoo-hoo!”—­laughing like.

II

Two full years passed afore the end of my tale.  The new Squire did very wisely, and was highly thought upon.  He ruled well, for he had an old head on young shoulders, and he was a good landlord and a patient, sensible, and kind-hearted chap.  He got engaged to be married also, and seemed so bright and cheerful as need be, and good friends with his brother Lawrence, and popular with high and low.  Yet right well I knowed there was a cruel canker at his heart, for no well-born man could do the thing he’d done and not smart to his dying day and feel all his prosperity was poison.  Not to mention the terrible shock as he had got from me on the night after his uncle’s death.

I felt sure, somehow, as the truth would come out, and that I should hear more about that coorious evening.  And so I did, but ’twas in a manner very different from what I guessed or expected.  In a word, to be quite honest about it, I got into smart trouble myself one night—­in October ’twas, and a brave year for pheasants.  The chaps at Woodcotes outwitted me for the fust time in their lives, and cut short my little games.  They set a trap for me, and I got catched.  There’s no need to dwell upon the details, but I found myself surrounded by six of ’em, and knowing very well that, if I showed fight, ’twould only be a long sight worse for me in the end, I threw up the sponge, gived ’em my air-gun—­a wonderful weapon I’d got from a gipsy—­and let ’em take me.  I was red-handed by ill-fortune, which, indeed, they had meant me to be.  In fact, they waited just where they knowed I was going to be busy, having fust throwed me off the scent very clever by letting one of their number tell a pack o’ lies to a woman friend of mine in a public-house the night afore.  She told me what a keeper had told her, and I believed it, and this was the result.

There weren’t no lock-up within five miles, and so the men took me to Woodcotes till morning; and very pleased they was, and very proud of themselves, for I’d been a thorn in their hands for a good bit.  And I said nought, understanding such matters, and knowing that every word you speak at such a time will be used against you.

And then we got to Woodcotes, and I had to speak, for though ’twas three in the morning or a bit later, young Squire, knowing about the thing, hadn’t gone to bed.  He commanded ’em to bring me afore him, and I came in, handcuffed, to his libery, and there he sat with a good fire and a book.  And a very beautiful satin smoking-jacket he wore, and the room smelled of rich cigars.  I blinked, coming in out of the dark, and he told the keepers to go till he’d had a talk along with me.  And then he dressed me down properly, but not till his men was t’other side of the door.

He knowed all about my family and its success in the world, and its fame in all to do with sport, and he said that ’twas a crying sin and shame that such as me should break away and be a black sheep and get into trouble like this.