’With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat,
      Wilt thou fight a traverse with the Castle cat?’

The proper champion in such a cause, since ’What cat’s averse to fish?’’

‘No, Louis dear,’ said his aunt, struggling like a girl to keep her countenance; ’this is no time for nonsense.  One would think you had no feeling for your father.’

’My dear aunt, I can’t go to gaol like Prince Hal.  I do assure you, I did not assault the bench with the knitting-pins.  What am I to do?’

‘Not set at nought your father’s displeasure.’

‘I can’t help it,’ said he, almost sadly, though half smiling.  ’What would become of me if I tried to support the full weight?  Interfering with institutions, ruining reputation, blasting bulwarks, patronizing poachers, vituperating venerated—­’

‘Quite true,’ cried Aunt Catherine, with spirit.  ’You know you had no business there, lecturing a set of men old enough to be your grandfathers, and talking them all to death, no doubt.’

’Well, Aunt Kitty, if oppression maddens the wise, what must it do to the foolish?’

‘If you only allow that it was foolish—­’

’No; I had rather know whether it was wrong.  I believe I was too eager, and not respectful enough to the old squire:  and, on reflection, it might have been a matter of obedience to my father, not to interfere with the prejudices of true-born English magistrates.  Yes, I was wrong:  I would have owned it sooner, but for the shell he fired over my head.  And for the rest, I don’t know how to repent of having protested against tyranny.’

There was something redeeming in the conclusion, and it was a comfort, for it was impossible to retain anger with one so gently, good-humouredly polite and attentive.

A practical answer to the champion was not long in coming.  He volunteered the next day to walk to Northwold with Mrs. Frost and Mary, who wanted to spend the morning in selecting a house in Dynevor Terrace, and to be fetched home by-and-by, when Mrs. Ponsonby took her airing.  Two miles seemed nothing to Aunt Catharine, who accepted her nephew’s arm for love, and not for need, as he discoursed of all the animals that might be naturalized in England, obtained from Mary an account of the llamas of the Andes, and rode off upon a scheme of an importation to make the fortune of Marksedge by a manufacture of Alpaca umbrellas.

Meantime, he must show the beautiful American ducks which he hoped to naturalize on the pond near the keeper’s lodge:  but, whistle and call as he would, nothing showed itself but screaming Canada geese.  He ran round, pulled out a boat half full of water, and, with a foot on each side, paddled across to a bushy island in the centre,—­but in vain.  The keeper’s wife, who had the charge over them, came out:  ‘Oh, my Lord, I am so sorry!  They pretty ducks!’

‘Ha! the foxes?’