Once more spring; and though many things had occurred to sadden the hearts once so light at Woodburn, there were yet days there when something of the old charm seemed to come back. There were hearts and minds all the more bound together by sympathy in sorrow, and by a common endurance of the petty enmity of proud and ignorant neighbours. One fine May Sunday evening, Mr. and Mrs. Degge had come in to tea at the Grange. Sir Henry Clavering was there; and after tea a walk was proposed down by the river-side to a copse, where two nightingales were continually heard, evening and night, singing against each other in marvellous rivalry. Mr. and Mrs. Degge, Sir Henry, George, Ann, and Letty, set out for this walk. A more delicious evening never shed its charms on such a company. A light breeze blew the odours of legions of flowers towards them as they slowly wandered down the valley. They had then to cross some fields, and pass through a farm-yard, before reaching the copse in question. These fields and this copse were on Sir Roger Rockville’s land; and as they approached the gate leading into the fields, they saw, to their surprise, a board erected, declaring that there was no road that way. As this was, and always had been, a road far beyond the memory of man, and as no legal measures had been taken to stop it, the gentlemen were quite confident that it could not be legally stopped. They, therefore, went on, passed through the farm-yard, saw no one, and reached the copse.
As they were standing beneath some trees just within it, and were listening to the songs of the emulative birds, suddenly a gun was discharged over their heads, and one of the birds fell at their feet. In the greatest astonishment and indignation, the three gentlemen rushed towards the place whence the discharge came, but could discern no one. The ladies had picked up the poor little musician, now with its feathers dabbled with its blood, and all its wondrous music hushed for ever, and were in the highest state of pity and resentment.
The party took its way back in a mood of extreme exasperation at the barbarous deed, which they attributed to some one of Sir Roger’s keepers, and that the poor bird had fallen a martyr to the baronet’s known feelings against them. As they entered the farm-yard, two young men came towards them, one having a gun on his shoulders. This one addressed the party without any sign of courtesy.
“Did not you see the board up by the gate?”
“Yes!” it was replied. “We saw it, but it has no business there. This is an old road, and has not, to our certain knowledge, been legally stopped.”
“I tell you,” said the young man, in an excited tone, “there is no road—never was a road, and no one shall come this way.”
“Pray, who are you, young man?” said Sir Henry Clavering.
“Who am I? I am the son of the tenant here.”
“Then let me tell you,” said Sir Henry, “that I am Sir Henry Clavering, a magistrate. This is Mr. Degge, another magistrate, who must have heard of any intention to stop this road by legal means. You young men are new here,—your father has only entered on this farm at Lady Day. We are old inhabitants, and know that this has always been a road.”
“I don’t care,” said the young farmer, “who you are. I tell you there is no road here. I am ordered by Sir Roger to let nobody pass here, and I won’t, and”—clapping his gun with one hand, as the other rested it on his shoulder—“if any one comes after this notice, I’ll give him what shall prevent him coming again.”