“I don’t mean that,” answered Jocelyn. “I mean a gamekeeper. They’ve gone in for poaching, and it’s time it was stopped.”
“Eh? What?” Colonel Follitt did not understand.
“They’ve been snaring hares all over the park. That’s one thing. Then, they are catching all the trout in the stream with worms. If that isn’t poaching, what is? Rather low-down form, too. Worms!”
This roused the Colonel. “Really! Upon my word, it’s too bad!”
“What becomes of the game and the fish?” inquired the Colonel.
“They give them to the postman, and he brings them chocolates in exchange,” answered Jocelyn. “They lie in wait for him behind the hedge on the Malton road.”
“Upon my word!” cried the Colonel again. “There’s no doubt about it, Jane, you must get a governess at once. By-the-bye, where are they now?”
“Poaching,” answered Jocelyn, crunching steadily.
“They are welcome to the hares,” said the Colonel; “but catching trout with worms is a little too much! In March, too!”
While he was speaking his youngest son had entered—a lean young athlete who bore a certain resemblance to both his elder brothers, for he had Lionel’s quiet, dark face, together with something of Jocelyn’s build and evident energy. “I think so too,” he said crossly, as he sat down beside his brother at the corner of the tea-table. “It’s high time that governess came.”