Stella choked on her porridge and the spoon all but slipped from her hand. She stared with wide open eyes. "He didn't."
Their whispers broke off as Mr. Tapping strode across the kitchen and took his place at the head of the table. A heavy-set unimaginative man who seldom entered into conversation with the children, he eyed them speculatively. But he said nothing and began to eat his eggs and thick strips of bacon. He ate slowly and methodically, keeping his eyes to the table. When he had finished his coffee, he settled back to light his pipe. He passed the match back and forth across the bowl with quiet deliberation.
"Who's Mr. Maudsley and who's Mr. Trask?"
His wife smiled. "Those are just the names the children have given the scarecrows."
"What scarecrows?"
"The one in our field and the one on Edmund's land."
Mr. Tapping considered this while strong curls of strong tobacco smoke rose about him.
"Why those names? Why not Brown and Smith?"
"Because those are their names," explained Stella patiently.
Mr. Tapping cogitated on the mysteries of the juvenile mind. Abruptly he remembered the section of pasture fence that needed repairing and got to his feet.