“But tubs have to be filled, Martha, dear,” said the constable, with an attempt at a smile.
“Not in my kitchen if they do,” said Martha, with a snort; “and Master Waller never meant you to come in with the soldiers, so the sooner you go off back to the cottage the pleasanter it will be for you, for if I am put out I speak my mind, and I’m put out now so there!”
Martha whisked herself round and marched back into the kitchen, while the constable, who seemed to have the yard to himself, sighed, and went across to the mounting-stone by the stable door, where he seated himself to wait, intently watching the ivy-clothed, highly pitched roof the while, till one of the yard dogs came up cautiously and slowly, and smelt him all round, but made no further advance towards being friends.
That lunch was rather prolonged, and, as he listened, Waller, with his hands in his pockets, marched up and down the hall, frowning and thinking till he recalled the breaking of the ladder and the aspect of the village constable, when his frown faded away as if by magic, and, throwing himself into one of the big old oak hall chairs, he rolled about in it, laughing silently till he cried.
At last a sharp order rang out in the kitchen, and though he could not see, Waller heard the men spring to their feet and march out into the yard, where he followed quickly, in time to see them take their piled muskets, while Joe Hanson, the gardener, who had been playing his part at the lunch with greater zeal than he bestowed upon his mowing or digging, busied himself with picking up the broken ladder, grinning across at Tony Gusset the while.
Directly after there were a few parting words passing between Waller and the sergeant, the men joining in giving their young host a cheer, which struck very emptily upon Gusset’s ear, and made him mutter vows about being even some day, as he scuffled across to get close up to the soldiers and march with them back to the village.
And now that all danger seemed to be over, Waller’s spirits rose, and, in company with the gardener, he walked with the search-party along the drive, out at the gate, and along the road to the edge of the Squire’s estate, keeping up a running fire the while to harass the rear of the column, which was formed by Tony Gusset, the actual rearguard being composed of the sergeant, who fell back with the pair from the Manor to march along silently and solemnly, though thoroughly enjoying the impromptu fun.
The gardener commenced it by calling out in an excited tone, as if he had suddenly recalled something:
“Here, hi! Gusset!”
“Yes,” said the man, stopping, to turn round his great full-moon face.