‘Not particularly; but I want to have a chat with you.’
‘Come along then. There’ll be time enough for chatting as we cross the Merefield. What is it?’
‘That is exactly what I have got to ask you. What have I been doing that you have been upsetting Madge by telling her that she is to have nothing more to do with me?’
They were in the field—an extensive plain which had been once a morass. Drainage and cultivation had converted it into valuable meadow-land. The hedges which bounded it were studded with willows, and three trees of the same kind formed a group in the centre. These trees and the nature of the ground had doubtless suggested the name of the farm. In wet seasons the Merefield justified its title by presenting a sheet of water sometimes more than a foot deep, in spite of drains and embankment to keep the river out.
‘That’s right, Philip, lad—straight from the shoulder; and I’ll make answer likewise. I never told Madge that she was to have nought more ado with you.’
‘I was sure of it,’ exclaimed the lover in cheerful confidence; ‘and now I may call you Uncle Dick again. But you have given her a scare—you know how seriously she takes things, and you will have to tell her yourself that it was only your fun.’
Crawshay’s face had at first assumed an expression of internal chuckling at some joke which amused and yet did not altogether please him. Now, however, his brows contracted slightly, and he spoke gravely.
‘Ah, but it weren’t all fun neither.’
‘Then what in the name of goodness was it? I know that you had some disagreement with my guv’nor the other day; but you are not going to make us miserable on that score.’
‘I don’t want to put you out on any score: but your father may.’