"Are we going to hang round him all the time?" asked William discontentedly. "Won't be any fun—not much," he added proudly, after a slight pause.
"Well, 'e knows the wye an' we don't," said Elbert.
"I do," said William. "You come with me—quick—afore he comes out."
They followed William silently round the back of the house and across a field. From the other end of the field they had a glimpse of the tall man coming out of the house, taking off his hat with a polite bow, then standing at the gate and looking round in bewildered amazement. Then they disappeared over a stile into another road. Here a small person at the rear of the procession set up a plaintive cry.
"Oo—oo—oo," she sobbed, "I'm tahred of the country. Oo—oo—oo, I want to gow 'owm."
Eglantine came to the rescue.
"If you don't shut up makin' that noise, Christine 'Awkins," she said, "a cow or sumphin 'll eat you up. Yer never knows in the country."
The sound ceased as by magic. William led his friends along the road. At a pair of iron gates leading past a lodge into a winding drive, Eglantine stopped.
"I'm tahred of walkin' along this 'ere road," she announced. "Let's go in here."
Even William was aghast.