It appeared that Anthony, who was a precise as well as an ardent young man, had had scruples about trusting to hearsay.  Certainly it was rumoured far and wide that the squire of Matstead had done as he had said he would do, and gone to church; but Mr. Anthony was one of those spirits who will always have things, as they say, from the fountain-head; partly from instincts of justice, partly, no doubt, for the pleasure of making direct observations to the principals concerned.  This was what he had done in this case.  He had ridden, without a word to any, up to Matstead, and had demanded to be led to the squire; and there and then, refusing to sit down till he was answered, had put his question.  There had been a scene.  The squire had referred to puppies who wanted drowning, to young sparks, and to such illustrative similes; and Anthony, in spite of his youthful years, had flared out about turncoats and lick-spittles.  There had been a very pretty ending:  the squire had shouted for his servants and Anthony for his, and the two parties had eyed one another, growling like dogs, until bloodshed seemed imminent.  Then the visitor had himself solved the situation by stalking out of the house from which the squire was proposing to flog him, mounting his horse, and with a last compliment or two had ridden away.  And here he was at Froggatt on his return journey, having eaten there that dinner which no longer would be spread for him at Matstead.

Robin sat silent till the tale was done, and at the end of it Anthony was striding about the room, aflame again with wrath, gesticulating and raging aloud.

Then Robin spoke, holding up his hand for moderation.  “You will have the whole house here,” he said.  “Well, you have cooked my goose for me.”

“Bah! that was cooked at Passiontide when you went to Booth’s Edge.  Do you think he’ll ever have a Papist in his house again?”

“Did he say so?”

“No; but he said enough about his ’young cub.’...  Nonsense, man!  Come home with me to Dethick.  We’ll find occupation enough.”

“Did he say he would not have me home again?”

“No,” bawled Anthony.  “I have told you he did not say so outright.  But he said enough to show he’d have no rebels, as he called them, in his Protestant house!  Dick’s to leave.  Did you hear that?”

“Dick!”

“Why, certainly.  There was a to-do on Sunday, and Dick spoke his mind.  He’ll come to me, he says, if you have no service for him.”

Robin set his teeth.  It seemed as if the pelting blows would never cease.

“Come with me to Dethick!” said Anthony again.  “I tell you—­”

“Well?”

“There’ll be time enough to tell you when you come.  But I promise you occupation enough.”

He paused, as if he would say more and dared not.

“You must tell me more,” said the lad slowly.  “What kind of occupation?”

Then Anthony did a queer thing.  He first glanced at the door, and then went to it quickly and threw it open.  The little lobby was empty.  He went out, leaned over the stair and called one of his men.