'I knew that!' Connie cried over her shoulder, and she flitted across the open pasture, humming to herself.
'Oh, of course! If some people have private information, they can afford to thrust.' This was a snuff-coloured habit into which Miss Sperrit had cannoned down the ride.
'What! 'Midmore got Sidney to heel? You never did that, Sperrit.' This was Mr. Fisher, M.F.H., enlarging the breach Midmore had made.
'No, confound him!' said the father testily. 'Go on, sir! Injecto ter pulvere—you've kicked half the ditch into my eye already.'
They killed that cub a little short of the haven his mother had told him to make for—a two-acre Alsatia of a gorse-patch to which the M.F.H. had been denied access for the last fifteen seasons. He expressed his gratitude before all the field and Mr. Sidney, at Mr. Sidney's farmhouse door.
'And if there should be any poultry claims' he went on.
'There won't be,' said Midmore. 'It's too like cheating a sucking child, isn't it, Mr. Sidney?'
'You've got me!' was all the reply. 'I be used to bein' put upon, but you've got me, Mus' Midmore.'
Midmore pointed to a new brick pig-pound built in strict disregard of the terms of the life-tenant's lease. The gesture told the tale to the few who did not know, and they shouted.
Such pagan delights as these were followed by pagan sloth of evenings when men and women elsewhere are at their brightest. But Midmore
