He nodded, and went away, John looking after him with a satisfied expression.
“I never did mind obligin’ the Squire,” he remarked to his wife, “and I’m glad to do en a bit of a good turn i’ my ancient years. ’Tis true what he do say, that there bit down by the river have a-been fearful neglected. I myself could never make time to go down there, and ’t ain’t very likely as these here chaps ’ull go out of their way to look round. I’ll put it to rights, though.”
“I’m sure it’s very good o’ you, John,” said Mrs. Guppy, who had listened to the foregoing colloquy with a somewhat mystified air. “I shouldn’t ha’ thought that there was anything worth lookin’ arter down there. Why, the town boys do bathe there reg’lar i’ the summer.”
“They’ll not bathe there any more,” returned her lord resolutely. “I’ll teach Mr. Sanders a lesson—I’ll larn ’em how to see arter a place as it did ought to be looked arter! Reach me down that gun, woman!”
He sallied forth that very hour, drawing up his little, bent form to as close an approach to straightness as he could manage.
His first care on reaching his destination was to examine the gates that gave access to this stretch of meadow-land. He pursed his nether lip and shook his head disapprovingly at their shaky condition, making a mental resolution to repair them at the earliest opportunity, and moreover to see that they were provided with padlocks. After diligently hunting in the neighbouring wood, he discovered a half-defaced board, which had at one time borne the legend, “Trespassers will be prosecuted,” and, with a sigh of satisfaction, placed it in a more prominent position.
His joy was extreme when, late in the afternoon, he discovered an honest labouring man in the act of climbing a gate, which, owing to the rickety condition of its hinges, could not be opened without risk of falling flat upon the ground.
“Where be goin’ to?” inquired John, sternly.
“Why, jist home-along,” returned the other, with a good-humoured smile; “’tis a bit of a short cut this way.”
“There’s to be no more short cuts here,” cried John, with a certain almost malignant triumph. “These here meadows belongs to Squire. They’m his private property.”