“But what a goose the man must be to make such absurdity his object,” said Henrietta.
“He could not be a Carey and be otherwise,” said Busy Bee. “And besides, what would you have him do? As to getting any practice, unless his kith and kin choose to victimise themselves philanthropically according to Roger’s proposal, I do not see what chance he has, where everyone knows the extent of a Carey’s intellects; and what is left for the poor man to do but to study the cut of his boots?”
“If you say much more about it, Queenie,” said Henrietta, “you will make Fred dance in Bottom’s hob-nailed shoes.”
“Ah! it is a melancholy business,” said Beatrice; “but it cannot be helped. Fred cannot turn into a clodhopper. But what earthquake is this?” exclaimed she, as the front door was dashed open with such violence as to shake the house, and the next moment Alexander rushed in, heated and almost breathless. “Rats! rats!” was his cry; “Fred, that’s right. But where is Uncle Geoffrey?”
“Gone to Allonfield.”
“More’s the pity. There are a whole host of rats in the great barn at home. Pincher caught me one just now, and they are going to turn the place regularly out, only I got them to wait while I came up here for you and Uncle Geoffrey. Come, make haste, fly—like smoke—while I go and tell grandpapa.”
Off flew Fred to make his preparation, and off to the drawing room hurried Alex to call grandpapa. He was greeted by a reproof from Mrs. Langford for shaking the house enough to bring it down, and grandpapa laughed, thanked him, and said he hoped to be at Sutton Leigh in time for the rat hunt, as he was engaged to drive grandmamma and Aunt Mary thither and to the Pleasance that afternoon.
Two seconds more, and Fred and Alex were speeding away together, and the girls went up to put on their bonnets to walk and meet their elders at Sutton Leigh. For once Beatrice let Henrietta be as slow as she pleased, for she was willing to let as much of the visit as possible pass before they arrived there. They walked along, merrily concocting their arrangements for Monday evening, until at length they came to the gates of Sutton Leigh, and already heard the shouts of triumph, the barking of dogs, and the cackle of terrified poultry, which proclaimed that the war was at its height.
“O! the glories of a rat hunt!” cried Beatrice. “Come, Henrietta, here is a safe place whence to contemplate it, and really it is a sight not to be lost.”
Henrietta thought not indeed when she looked over a gate leading into the farm-yard on the side opposite to the great old barn, raised on a multitude of stone posts, a short ladder reaching to the wide doors which were folded back so as to display the heaps of straw thrown violently back and forward; the dogs now standing in attitudes of ecstatic expectation, tail straight out, head bent forward, now springing in rapture on the prey; the boys rushing about with their huge sticks, and coming down now and then with thundering blows, the labourers with their white shirt sleeves and pitchforks pulling down the straw, Uncle Roger with a portentous-looking club in the thick of the fight. On the ladder, cheering them on, stood grandpapa, holding little Tom in his arms, and at the bottom, armed with small sticks, were Charlie and Arthur, consoling themselves for being turned out of the melée, by making quite as much noise as all those who were doing real execution, thumping unmercifully at every unfortunate dead mouse or rat that was thrown out, and charging fiercely at the pigs, ducks, and geese that now and then came up to inspect proceedings, and perhaps, for such accidents will occur in the best regulated families, to devour a share of the prey.