“He’s not been this way,” Jim assured him. “I’ve been sitting here a long time.”
“’E’s a clever ’un!” Pegett muttered, “but I’ll get ’im one ’o these days, sir, I will; and I’ll put a barrel o’ shot into ’is legs.”
“He’s not quite right in his head, is he?” Jim asked.
“Oh, ’e’s wise enough,” the man replied; “wise enough to get ’is dinner off of your rabbits, sir. That’s been ’is game since ’e were no more’n a lad. And never done an honest day’s work in ’is life.”
Smiley-face, as has been said, was generally considered to be half-witted; but on the few occasions on which Jim had spoken to him he had answered intelligently enough, not to say cheekily, though there was something most uncanny about his continuous smile. Nobody seemed to know exactly how he lived. He slept in a garret in a lonely cottage belonging to an aged and witch-like woman known as old Jenny, and it was to be presumed that he did odd jobs for her in return for his keep; but she herself was a mysterious soul, not inclined to waste words on the passer-by, and her cottage, which stood midway between Eversfield and the neighbouring village of Bedley-Sutton, was superstitiously shunned by the inhabitants of both places.
Pegett was eager to track down the malefactor, and presently he disappeared among the trees, moving like a burlesque of a Red Indian, and actually making sufficient noise to rouse the woods for a hundred yards around. Jim, meanwhile, made his way towards the manor, walking quietly upon the moss-covered path, and pausing every now and then to listen to the distant commotion caused by the gamekeeper’s efforts to break a silent way through the brittle twigs and crisp, dead leaves.
He had just sighted the gate which led from the wood to the lower part of the garden of the manor when his eye was attracted by the swaying of the upper branch of an oak a short distance from the path. He paused, wondering what had caused the movement, which had sent a shower of leaves to the ground, and to his surprise he presently discerned a man’s foot resting upon it, the remainder of his body being hidden behind the broad trunk. He guessed immediately that he had chanced upon, and treed, Smiley-face, and, having a fellow feeling for the poacher, he called out to him, quite good-naturedly, to come down. He received no answer, however; and going therefore to the foot of the oak, he looked up at the man, who was now hardly concealed, and again addressed him.
“It’s no good pretending to be a woodpecker, Smiley-face,” he said. “Come down at once, or I’ll shy a stone at you.”
Smiley-face was a youngish man, with dirty red hair, puckered pink skin, and a smile which extended from ear to ear. His nose was snub, and his eyes were like two sparkling little blue beads, cunning and merry. He now thrust this surprising countenance forward over the top of a branch, and stared down at Jim with an expression of intense relief.
“Lordee!—it’s the Squire,” he muttered. “You did give I a fright, sir: I thought it was Mr. Pegett with ’is gun. Shoot I dead, ’e said he would. ’E said it to my face, up yonder at the Devil’s Crossroads: would you believe it?”