“Oh no—dead easy,” he answered. “I've bought Friars Pardon to prevent Sir Walter's birds straying.”
A cock pheasant scuttered through the dry leaves and exploded almost under their feet. Sophie jumped.
“That's one of 'em,” said George calmly.
“Well, your nerves are better, at any rate,” said she. “Did you tell 'em you'd bought the thing to play with?”
“No. That was where my nerve broke down. I only made one bad break—I think. I said I couldn't see why hiring land to men to farm wasn't as much a business proposition as anything else.”
“And what did they say?”
“They smiled. I shall know what that smile means some day. They don't waste their smiles. D'you see that track by Gale Anstey?”
They looked down from the edge of the hanger over a cup-like hollow. People by twos and threes in their Sunday best filed slowly along the paths that connected farm to farm.
“I've never seen so many on our land before,” said Sophie. “Why is it?”
“To show us we mustn't shut up their rights of way.”