"I say, Bob," cried Eves, "we might have a rabbit hunt one of these days."
"We've a lot of other things on hand," said Templeton, dubiously. "You see, there's the tar entanglement, and——"
"There it is again," said Eves, pointing towards a hedge some distance to the left beyond the ridge. "Rabbits don't live in hedges, do they, Mr. Trenchard?"
"Not as a general rule," replied the farmer, cautiously; "but there's no saying what they'll be doing. He's gone again; we've frighted him away."
"Well, here you see what we've done," said Templeton. "The dam there holds back the stream, the water is forced to rise, and it's now finding its way over the ridge in many little rivulets which I daresay by to-morrow morning will have flowed right over the field."
"Well to be sure!" said Mr. Trenchard. "Now that's what I call a downright clever bit of inventing. And to think that there stream hev been a-running along there all the days of my life, and I never seed no use for un! 'Twill be the saving of my roots, young gen'l'men, and I'm much beholden to 'ee."
It was as though a load had been lifted from the old man's mind. He was more cheerful that night than his guests had yet seen him, and was easily persuaded to join them and his wife in a rubber of whist.
Early hours were the rule at the farm. By nine everybody was in bed but the two strangers. They were always the last to retire. About ten they had just undressed. It was a hot, sultry night; the bedroom, low-pitched and heavily raftered, was stuffy; and Eves, after blowing out the candle, pulled up the blind and leant out of the window to get a breath of what air there was. The sky was slightly misty, and the moon, in its last quarter, threw a subdued radiance upon the country-side.
"By George!" exclaimed Eves, suddenly; "there's that white thing again."
"What does it matter?" said Templeton, who was getting into bed. "We've got to be up early; come on."