But having "tried it" once or twice with very indifferent success, he shook his head and, sheathing his weapon, sat down again and grew more despondent than ever. "Sit ye down, Zeb," said he, "the blue devils have me sure."
"Devils, Master Tom sir," said the Sergeant, seating himself on the bench his own hands had contrived, "I aren't nowise surprised, same do haunt the place o' late, this here orchard being 'witched d'ye see and full o' hocus-pocus."
"'Tis hard to believe, Zeb, what with the sky so blue and the grass all dappled with sunlight. Nay 'tis a fair world, Zeb, and hard to leave. Life's a desirable thing and hard to lose! Save us! What a world 'twould be if all women were sweet as they seemed and men as true!"
"Sure there's a deal o' roguery i' the world Master Pancras—Tom, sir! As witness—last night!"
The Viscount winced, muttered between clenched teeth and scowled at his fist again:
"Is the Major come home yet?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir. Come in along with Lord Cleeve, same as served under his honour years agone."
"How were they, Zeb?"
"His honour oncommon solemn and my lord oncommon talkative—wouldn't nowise part wi' his boots, threatened to shoot the first man as dared touch same. Last night must ha' been—a night, sir!"
"Aye!" nodded the Viscount absently. "You told me last night you actually caught the fellow one night—in the orchard here?"