CHAPTER V.
These had been a long spell of fair weather, and the Earl of Barfield had carried on his warfare against all and sundry who permitted the boughs of their garden trees to overhang the public highway, for a space of little less than a month. The campaign had been conducted with varying success, but the old nobleman counted as many victories as fights, and was disposed, on the whole, to be content with himself. He was an old and experienced warrior in this cause, and had learned to look with a philosophic eye upon reverses.
But on the day following that which saw the introduction of his lordship's parliamentary nominee to the quartette party, his lordship encountered a check which called for all the resources of philosophy. He was routed by his own henchman, Joseph Beaker.
The defeat arrived in this wise: his lordship having carefully arranged his rounds so that Joseph should carry the ladder all the long distances while he himself bore it all the short ones, had found himself so flurried by the defeat he had encountered at the hands of Miss Blythe, that he had permitted Joseph to take up the ladder and carry it away from where it had leaned against the apple-tree in the little old lady's garden. This unforeseen incident had utterly disarranged his plans, and since he had been unadvised enough to post his servitor in the particulars of the campaign, Joseph had been quick to discover his own advantage.
“We will go straight on to Willis's, Joseph,” said his lordship, when they began their rounds that afternoon. The stroke was simple, but, if it should only succeed, was effective.
“We bain't a-goin' to pass Widder Hotchkiss, be we, governor?” demanded Joseph, who saw through the device. His lordship decided not to hear the question, and walked on a little ahead, swinging the billhook and the saw.
Joseph Beaker revolved in his mind his own plan of action. In front of Widow Hotchkiss's cottage the trees were unusually luxuriant, and the boughs hung unusually low. When they were reached, Joseph contrived to entangle his ladder and to bring himself to a stand-still, with every appearance of naturalness.
“My blessed!” he mumbled, “this here's a disgrace to the parish, gaffer. Theer's nothin' in all Heydon Hay as can put a patch on it. Thee bissent agoin' past this, beest? Her's as small-sperited as a rabbit—the widder is.”
“We'll take it another time, Joseph,” said his lordship, striving to cover his confusion by taking a bigger pinch of snuff than common—“another time, Joseph, another time.”
“Well,” said Joseph, tossing his lop-sided head, as if he had at last fathomed the folly and weakness of human nature, and resigned himself to his own mournful discoveries, “I should niver ha' thought it.” He made a show of shouldering the ladder disgustedly, but dropped it again. “We fled afore a little un yesterday,” he said. “I did look for a show o' courage here, governor.” His lordship hesitated. “Why, look at it,” pursued Joseph, waving a hand towards the overhanging verdure; “it 'ud be a sinful crime to go by it.”