“I did not know it,” said the Senator.  “As Goarly lives near here I thought you might be Goarly.  When I saw Goarly he had a gun, and you have a gun.  Can you tell me where Goarly lives?”

“Tother side of the wood,” said Bean pointing back with his thumb.  “He never had a gun like this in his hand in all his born days.”

“I dare say not, my friend.  I can go through the wood I guess;” for Bean had pointed exactly over the gateway.

“I guess you can’t then,” said Bean.  The man who, like other gamekeepers, lived much in the company of gentlemen, was ordinarily a civil courteous fellow, who knew how to smile and make things pleasant.  But at this moment he was very much put out.  His covert had been found full of red herrings and strychnine, and his fox had been poisoned.  He had lost his guinea on the day of the hunt, the guinea which would have been his perquisite had they found a live fox in his wood.  And all this was being done by such a fellow as Goarly!  And now this abandoned wretch was bringing an action against his Lordship and was leagued with such men as Scrobby and Bearside!  It was a dreadful state of things!  How was it likely that he should give a passage through the wood to anybody coming after Goarly?  “You’re on Mr. Twentyman’s land now, as I dare say you know.”

“I don’t know anything about it”

“Well; that wood is Lord Rufford’s wood.”

“I did know as much as that, certainly.”

“And you can’t go into it.”

“How shall I find Mr. Goarly’s house?”

“If you’ll get over that there ditch you’ll be on Mister Goarly’s land and that’s all about it” Bean as he said this put a strongly ironical emphasis on the term of respect and then turned back into the wood.

The Senator made his way down the fence to the bank on which Goarly had stood with his gun, then over into Goarly’s field, and so round the back of the wood till he saw a small red brick house standing perhaps four hundred yards from the covert, just on the elbow of a lane.  It was a miserable-looking place with a pigsty and a dung heap and a small horse-pond or duck-puddle all close around it.  The stack of chimneys seemed to threaten to fall, and as he approached from behind he could see that the two windows opening that way were stuffed with rags.  There was a little cabbage garden which now seemed to be all stalks, and a single goose waddling about the duck-puddle.  The Senator went to the door, and having knocked, was investigated by a woman from behind it.  Yes, this was Goarly’s house.  What did the gentleman want?  Goarly was at work in the field.  Then she came out, the Senator having signified his friendly intentions, and summoned Goarly to the spot.

“I hope I see you well, sir,” said the Senator putting out his hand as Goarly came up dragging a dung-York behind him.

Goarly rubbed his hand on his breeches before he gave it to be shaken and declared himself to be “pretty tidy, considering.”