Chapter 6

"Please, m?aster, there's trouble on the farm."

Reuben started out of the half-waking state into which he had fallen. It was late in the afternoon, the sunlight had gone, and a wintry twilight crept up the wall. Maude the dairy-woman was looking in at the door.

"Wot is it? Wot's happened?"
 
"Boorman asked me to fetch you. They've had some vrother wud the young Squire, and he's shot a cow."

"Shot one of my cows!" and Reuben sprang to his feet. "Where woman? Where?"

"Down at Totease. He wur the wuss for liquor, I reckon."

Reuben was out of the house bare-headed, and running across the yard to the Totease meadows. He soon met a little knot of farm-hands coming towards him, with three rather guilty-looking young men.

"Wot's happened?" he called to Boorman.

"Only this, m?aster—Dunk and me found Mus' Fleet a-tearing about the Glotten meadow wud two of his friends, trying to fix Radical posters on the cows—seems as they'd r?aked up one or two o' them old Ben the Gorilla posters wot used to be about Peasmarsh, and they'd stuck one on Tawny and one on Cowslip, and wur fair racing the other beasts to death. Then when me and the lads c?ame up and interfere, they want to fight us—and when we t?ake h?ald of 'em, seeing as they 'pear to be a liddle the wuss for drink, why Mus' Fleet he pulls out a liddle pistol and shoots all around, and hits poor ?ald Dumpling twice over."

"Look here, farmer," said one of the young men—"we're awfully sorry, and we'll settle with you about that cow. We were only having a rag. We're awfully sorry."

"Ho, indeed! I'm glad to hear it. And you'll settle wud me about the cow! Wur it you who shot her, I'd lik to know?"

"I didn't actually fire the pistol—but we're all in the same boat. Had a luncheon over at Rye to cheer ourselves up after seeing the Tory get in. We're awfully sorry."

"You've said that afore," said Reuben.

He pondered sternly over the three young men, who[Pg 452] all looked sober enough now. As a matter of fact, Dumpling was no great loss; fifteen pounds would have paid for her. But he was not disposed to let off George Fleet so easily. Against the two other youths he bore no grudge—they were just ordinary ineffective young asses, of Radical tendencies, he noted grimly. George, however, stood on a different footing; he was the mocker of Odiam, the perpetrator of many gross and silly practical jokes at its expense. He should not escape with the mere payment of fifteen pounds, for he owed Reuben the punishment of his earlier misdeeds.

"The man as shot my cow shall answer fur it before the magistrate," he said severely.

"Look here——" cried George Fleet, and his two friends began to bid for mercy, starting with twenty pounds.

"Be a sport," pleaded one of them, when they had come to forty, "you simply can't hand him over to the police—his father's Squire of the Manor, and it would be no end of a scandal."

"I know who his f?ather is, thank'ee," said Reuben.

Then suddenly a great, a magnificent, a triumphant idea struck him. He nearly staggered under the force of it. He was like a general who sees what he had looked upon hitherto as a mere trivial skirmish develop into a battle which may win him the whole campaign. He spoke almost faintly.

"Someone go fur the Squire."

"Sir Eustace!"

"Yes—fetch him here, and I'll talk the matter over wud him."

"But——"

"Either you fetch him here or I send fur the police."

The two young men stared at each other, then George Fleet nodded to them:

"You'd better go. The dad'll be better than a[Pg 453] policeman anyhow. Try and smooth him down a bit on the way."

"Right you are"—and they reluctantly moved off, leaving their comrade in the enemy's hands.

However, Reuben's whole manner had changed. His attitude towards George Fleet became positively cordial. He took him into the kitchen, and made Maude give him some tea. He himself paced nervously up and down, a queer look of exaltation sometimes passing over his face. One would never have taken him for the same man as the old fellow who an hour ago had huddled weak and almost senile in his chair, broken under his life's last tragedy. He felt young, strong, energetic, a soldier again.

The Squire soon arrived. Reuben had him shown into the parlour, and insisted on seeing him alone.

"You finish your tea," he said to George, "and bring some more, Maudie, for these gentlemen," nodding kindly to the two young men, who stared at him as if they thought he had taken leave of his senses.

In the parlour, Sir Eustace greeted him with mingled nervousness and irritation.

"Well, Backfield, I'm sorry about this young scapegrace of mine. But boys will be boys, you know, and we'll make it all right about that cow. I promise you it won't happen again."

"I'm sorry to have given you the trouble of coming here, Squire. But I thought maybe you and I cud come to an arrangement wudout calling in the police."

"Oh, certainly, certainly. You surely wouldn't think of doing that, Backfield. I promise you the full value of the cow."

"Quite so, Squire. But it ?un't the cow as I'm vrothered about so much as these things always happening. This ?un't the first 'rag,' as he calls it, wot he's had on my farm. I've complained to you before."
 
"I know you have, and I promise you nothing of this kind shall ever happen again."

"How am I to know that, Squire? You can't kip the young man in a prammylator. Now if he wur had up before the magistrate and sent to prison, it 'ud be a lesson as he'd never disremember."

"But think of me, Backfield! Think of his mother! Think of us all! It would be a ghastly thing for us. I promise to pay you the full value of the cow—and of your damaged self-respect into the bargain. Won't that content you?"

"Um," said Reuben—"it might."

The Squire thought he had detected Backfield's little game, and a relieved affability crept into his manner.

"That'll be all right," he said urbanely. "Of course I understand your feelings are more important to you than your cow. We'll do our best to meet you. What do you value them at, eh?"

"The Fair-pl?ace."