‘I know I flogged him well, I did.  But he were after pheasants’ eggs, and I didn’t know he were an orphan.  Lord, forgive me!’

’He’s thinking on David Morton, the cripple, as used to go about trapping vermin,’ whispered the woman.

‘Why, he died long ago—­twenty year, I should think,’ replied the squire.

‘Ay, but when grandfather goes off i’ this way to sleep after a bout of talking he seems to be dreaming on old times.  He’ll not waken up yet, sir; you’d best sit down if you’d like to stay,’ she continued, as she went into the house-place and dusted a chair with her apron.  ’He was very particular in bidding me wake him if he were asleep, and you or Mr. Roger was to call.  Mr. Roger said he’d be coming again this morning—­but he’ll likely sleep an hour or more, if he’s let alone.’

‘I wish I’d said good-by, I should like to have done that.’

‘He drops off so sudden,’ said the woman.  ’But if you’d be better pleased to have said it, squire, I’ll waken him up a bit.’

‘No, no!’ the squire called out as the woman was going to be as good as her word.  ’I’ll come again, perhaps to-morrow.  And tell him I was sorry; for I am indeed.  And be sure and send to the Hall for anything you want!  Mr. Roger is coming, is he?  He’ll bring me word how he is, later on.  I should like to have bidden him good-by.’

So, giving sixpence to the child who had held his horse, the squire mounted.  He sate still a moment, looking at the busy work going on before him, and then at his own half-completed drainage.  It was a bitter pill.  He had objected to borrowing from Government, in the first instance; and then his wife had persuaded him to the step; and after it was once taken, he was as proud as could be of the only concession to the spirit of progress he ever made in his life.  He had read and studied the subject pretty thoroughly, if also very slowly, during the time his wife had been influencing him.  He was tolerably well up in agriculture, if in nothing else; and at one time he had taken the lead among the neighbouring landowners, when he first began tile-drainage.  In those days people used to speak of Squire Hamley’s hobby; and at market ordinaries, or county dinners, they rather dreaded setting him off on long repetitions of arguments from the different pamphlets on the subject which he had read.  And now the proprietors all around him were draining—­draining; his interest to Government was running on all the same, though his works were stopped, and his tiles deteriorating in value.  It was not a soothing consideration, and the squire was almost ready to quarrel with his shadow.  He wanted a vent for his ill-humour; and suddenly remembering the devastation on his covers, which he had heard about not a quarter of an hour before, he rode up to the men busy at work on Lord Cumnor’s land.  Just before he got up to them he encountered Mr. Preston, also on horseback, come to overlook his labourers.  The squire did not know him personally, but from the agent’s manner of speaking, and the deference that was evidently paid to him, Mr Hamley saw that he was a responsible person.  So he addressed the agent,—­’I beg your pardon, I suppose you are the manager of these works?’