“Write to tell the man to mind his own business, and to say that the first person we found attempting to trespass on our property should be given to the police.”
“Then I shall find no one at home. I beg your pardon for calling it so, but it is the only place like home to me.”
“Yes; it is so comfortable since we built the billiard room and took away those nasty hangings in the hall. I was ever so long trying to per—”
She was interrupted by an old laborer, who hobbled up as fast as his rheumatism would allow him, and began to speak without further ceremony than snatching off his cap.
“Th’ave coom to the noo groups, my lady, crowds of ‘em. An’ a parson with ‘em, an’ a flag! Sur Chorles he don’t know what to say; an’ sooch doin’s never was.”
Lady Brandon turned pale and pulled at her horse as if to back him out of some danger. Her visitor, puzzled, asked the old man what he meant.
“There’s goin’ to be a proceyshon through the noo groups,” he replied, “an’ the master can’t stop ‘em. Th’ave throon down the wall; three yards of it is lyin’ on Riverside Road. An’ there’s a parson with ‘em, and a flag. An’ him that lives in Sallust’s hoos, he’s there, hoddin’ ‘em on.”
“Thrown down the wall!” exclaimed Lady Brandon, scarlet with indignation and pale with apprehension by turns. “What a disgraceful thing! Where are the police? Chester, will you come with me and see what they are doing? Sir Charles is no use. Do you think there is any danger?”
“There’s two police,” said the old man, “an’ him that lives at Sallust’s dar’d them stop him. They’re lookin’ on. An’ there’s a parson among ‘em. I see him pullin’ away at the wall with his own han’s.”
“I will go and see the fun,” said Chester.