“If that’s thy sort, I may as well walk up with thee to the hall.”
“I think thou best had. It’s thy business to see after thy game, man, and not mine.”
So the keeper went with them; and, to Tom’s surprise, he and Grimes chatted together all the way quite pleasantly. He did not know that a keeper is only a poacher turned outside in, and a poacher a keeper turned inside out.
They walked up a great lime avenue, a full mile long, and between their stems Tom peeped trembling at the horns of the sleeping deer, which stood up among the ferns. Tom had never seen such enormous trees, and as he looked up he fancied that the blue sky rested on their heads. But he was puzzled very much by a strange murmuring noise, which followed them all the way. So much puzzled, that at last he took courage to ask the keeper what it was.
He spoke very civilly, and called him Sir, for he was horribly afraid of him, which pleased the keeper, and he told him that they were the bees about the lime flowers.
“What are bees?” asked Tom.
“What make honey.”
“What is honey?” asked Tom.
“Thou hold thy noise,” said Grimes.