He moistened a manchet of bread from his wine-flask and flung it towards them. The hogs winced away with a squeal of alarm, then took courage and rushed upon the morsel together. The most of them were lean brutes, though here and there a fat sow ran with the herd, her dugs almost brushing the ground. In colour all were reddish-brown, and the chine of each arched itself like a bent bow. Five or six carried formidable tusks.
These tusks, I think, must have struck terror in the breast of Mr. Badcock, who, as my father enticed the hogs nearer with fresh morsels of bread until they nuzzled close to us, suddenly made a motion to beat them off with the butt of his musket, whereupon the whole herd wheeled and scampered off through the gateway.
"Why, man," cried my father, angrily, "did I not tell you they were tame! And now you have lost us good provender!" He raised his gun.
But here Nat touched his arm. "Let me follow them, sir, and see which way they take. Being so tame, they have likely enough some master or herdsman up yonder—"
"Or herdswoman," I laughed. "Take me with you, Nat."
"Nay, that I won't," he answered, with a quick blush. "You have the temper of Adonis—
"'Hunting he lov'd, but love he laughed to scorn,'
"and I fear his fate of you, one little Adonis among so many boars!"
"Then take me" urged Mr. Badcock. "Indeed, sir," he apologized, turning to my father, "the movement was involuntary. I am no coward, sir, though a sudden apprehension may for the moment flush my nerves. I desire to prove to you that on second thoughts I am ready to face all the boars in Christendom."
"I did not accuse you," said my father. "But go with Mr. Fiennes if you wish."