"What hawk?" queried the threatening gentleman, looking, and presently sighting the only one in view. "That hawk? Odd's life! If the rogue can shoot that hawk at this distance, I'm his humble servant, that I am! And let him only speak, and the place of under-keeper shall be his, damn me twice over if it sha'n't! D'ye hear that, rascal?"
Philosophically ignoring the last word, Dick replied, "If Mr. Perkins will hand me the gun, I'll show you how we shoot in" (he was going to say "America," but checked himself) "the county I came from."
"Give him the gun, Perkins, give him the gun!" ordered the gentleman, eagerly, responding to anything that appealed to his love of shooting, and already preparing to jeer in case of Dick's failure.
Dick took the gun, aimed carefully, fired; the bird fell into the copse. Whereupon the gentleman, forgetting former threats, impulsively applauded, pronounced Dick a marvel, and, taking it from his garb that he was a gamekeeper, began a brief catechising that resulted in Dick's being forthwith installed as Mr. Perkins's assistant, in a lodge at the farther end of Mr. Bullcott's woods,—for Bullcott was the name of the country squire whose favor Dick's marksmanship had so quickly won. Dick's face, and the straight account of himself that he had invented on the spot, served in lieu of a written "character" with the impulsive and unthinking Squire Bullcott; as subsequently his adaptiveness, quickness of perception, and conciliating manner enabled him to acquire Perkins's tolerance, and to learn the duties of his post so soon that no one discovered he had never filled a similar one before.
In this situation Dick spent the rest of February, all of March, and great part of April; having little company other than that of Perkins and the dogs; rarely seeing his master, who made frequent journeys from home; and not once beholding the Squire's wife, who, said Perkins, was usually ailing and mostly kept her room. He might have had the smiles of any of the maid-servants of Bullcott Hall, but he would never accept amatory favors from low sources as a supposed equal, though he might willingly enough, in his own proper character of gentleman, condescend on occasion to kiss a handsome wench.
One sweet, blossomy day in April, while following the course of a little rivulet, Dick emerged from the woods to a field at whose farther end was a barn, before which stood a large wagon whence a party of strolling players were moving their accessories into the building, for the purpose of giving a series of performances there. By the brookside, at a place hidden from her fellow Thespians by some bushes, knelt one of the women of the company, a rather pretty girl, washing clothes. Standing near this girl, with his back towards Dick, was a man who seemed, from his attitude and gestures, to be pressing on her some sort of invitation, which she apparently chose to ignore. This man presently stooped by her side, and made to put his arms around her, whereupon she gave him a vigorous slap in the face with the wet undergarment she then held.
The man persisting in his attempt to embrace her, and the girl resisting without fear but with repugnance, Dick ran forward, cuffed the man on the side of the head, and announced the intention of throwing him into the brook if he did not immediately let go the lady. The man let go, but only in order to spring to his feet and turn, with clenched fists, upon Dick, disclosing to the latter the furious face of Squire Bullcott.
The Squire, whose wrath instantly doubled upon his seeing that his interfering assailant was his own under gamekeeper, could only roar, sputter, and whine, incoherently, and look as if about to explode. He was deterred from instantly laying hands on Dick by the attitude of defence into which the latter had promptly thrown himself. When Mr. Bullcott had used up his breath in calling Dick vile names, and threatening him with everything from a cudgel to a gibbet, Dick explained that he could not stand by and see any man force his caresses on a lady against her will.
"Lady!" bellowed the Squire. "Why, she's a miserable —— of a vagabond play-actress! Why, you fool, I'll warrant she can't begin to count the men who have had her!"
"I don't stand up for the woman's virtue," said Dick. "I know nothing about that." He perceived that a man who would ever testify with due effect to the virtue of a good woman, must not assert, by oath or blows, a belief in that of a bad or doubtful woman. "But every woman has the right to say who sha'n't have her favors," he went on, "and that girl was resolved you shouldn't have hers!"