Part 1 — CHAPTER II STAPLE FARM

Mary Flight looked up at his entrance with a smile of welcome on her broad comely face. The fire was roaring up the open chimney, and a covered dish stood on an iron stand of Peter's contrivance before it.

"Come along in!" she said. "How late you are! I'm sure you couldn't have seen to shoot anything for the last half-hour."

"I've brought back a couple of rabbits," said Silas.

An old leathern chair with wooden arms awaited him on one side of the fire, and a pair of carpet-slippers was placed conveniently near it in the glow. He moved forward and dropped down rather heavily.

"There now!" said Mary. "Take off your boots and be comfortable! I thought you'd have been in long ago. Just look at the wet on your coat! Take it off, and I'll go and get you another!"

She was on her feet with the words, pushing the stocking she was knitting into a corner of her chair; but Silas stopped her.

"No, Mary, leave me alone! I'm not wet through. I'll go and get a bath presently."

That was one of his idiosyncracies which Mary could never understand, though she saw to it that the water was hot whenever he was likely to need it. She yielded the point of the coat and turned to the table instead.

"Well, I'll make the tea now. You'll be ready for it after messing about all this time in those muddy fields. Do take off your boots, Silas! You'll be ever so much more comfortable."

But Silas ignored the friendly admonition. "Better wait a few minutes for Peter," he said, stretching out his gaitered legs to the glow.

"And where's Peter?" said Mary, pausing teapot in hand.

Silas replied with his eyes on the fire. "I sent him round to Little Staple with a cock pheasant. He'll be in directly."

Mary's pause lengthened into a definite silence ere she turned and quietly set down the teapot.

When finally she spoke, her voice sounded a little strained. "I saw Miss Rosemary this afternoon. She was on her way back from the village and dropped in for a chat."

"Alone, was she?" said Silas.

He did not turn his head to ask the question. The red glow of the fire gave his features more than ever a look as of having been carved in bronze.

"Yes, she was alone," said Mary. "Miss Roberta was much too busy to leave home, and Miss Matilda is in bed."

"What's the matter with Miss Matilda?" said Silas.

Mary slightly shrugged her plump shoulders. "She always is a poor thing," she remarked not very sympathetically. "As often in bed as out of it, it seems to me."

Silas grunted acquiescence. "And what had Miss Rosemary got to say for herself?" he asked, after a moment.

"Oh, she was just as cheery as ever." Mary chuckled a little. "Ready to laugh at everything and nothing, the little rogue! She's getting very pretty, Silas, and actually eighteen next birthday. One can hardly believe it."

"Yes, she's growing up," said Silas.

"But that's just it," said Mary. "She never will grow up. She doesn't look a day more than fourteen. I can hardly believe she is."

"She was that when they came here," said Silas.

"Yes, and that's three years ago. It seems like yesterday, except that the old gentleman was with them, and Miss Roberta wasn't quite so thin as she is now. He was a fine old gentleman was old Colonel Wendholme."

"Yes," said Silas. "He kept Rosemary in order, which is more than anyone else has since he went on. The child is as wild as a hawk. There'll be trouble with her one of these days if they don't look out."

"Oh, but she's so warmhearted," pleaded Mary, "and simply devoted to her Aunt Bobby, as she calls her. Besides, Silas, she's so young. Why, she doesn't know good from evil yet."

"That's just it. Time she learnt!" said Silas. "Girls of eighteen ought to be beginning to have a little sense. Rosemary is like a colt that has never felt the lash. Miss Bobby is much too gentle with her."

"Oh, Silas, she's very strict sometimes," protested Mary. "Too much so, I almost think. Do you know, last August Bank Holiday when Rosemary broke away and went to the Fair at Bode with that young Hudson from Oxford her Aunt Bobby waited up for her and kept her locked in her room the whole day afterwards? Rosemary herself told me of it. She said she could have let herself down from the window easily, but she didn't because she knew her Aunt Bobby was crying in the dairy, and she couldn't have faced that, she said."

Silas uttered a sound that was like a growl. "I should like the breaking in of that young woman," he said.

"Oh, but she's so tenderhearted!" pleaded Mary again. "Doesn't that show how tractable the child is? And anyhow, crying or not, her aunt never went near her except to take her bread and milk for her meals until the very last thing at night. Poor little Miss Rosemary didn't tell me what happened then. She only threw up her hands and said, 'My hat!' and added that she never slept a wink afterwards."

Silas growled again more emphatically. "That girl wants whipping," he said. "Why doesn't she turn to and lend a hand with the animals instead of always tearing about enjoying herself? I've a very strong suspicion that she's been riding Leader again lately. He's limping worse than he was."

"Good gracious, Silas! She wouldn't do a thing like that!" Mary gazed at him, round-eyed. "Where is Leader?"

"Up in the field behind the big barn, two fields off Little Staple. I know she has been on him since he's been turned out. Old Joe Brant saw her over a week ago, and I've been on the look-out for her ever since. But she dodges me, the young baggage!"

"Oh, Silas, don't call her that!" Mary exclaimed in horror. "There's no vice in her, that I'm sure there isn't. If you really know that she's been on Leader—though I can't believe she'd do such a thing—why don't you step round and have a talk to her about it? I'm sure she would never do it again."

"She won't—if I catch her," said Silas grimly.

"Yes, but, Silas, if you'd only speak to her!" said Mary.

"She'd lie to me," said Silas.

"Oh, Silas!" Mary's voice held real pain.

"I tell you she'd lie," he repeated, stooping forward to throw a stick into the fire. "And I'm not going to risk hurting Miss Bobby over it. The only person that's going to be hurt is Rosemary,—and Miss Bobby won't know anything at all about it."

He thrust out his chin with the words, and Mary almost automatically shifted her ground.

"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" she said. "Why don't you move Leader to the field at the back here? He'd do just as well and be out of harm's way, and then she wouldn't have the temptation waiting for her, so to speak."

"I don't believe in removing temptation from people's paths," said Silas. "And look here, Mary! You're not to warn her. Understand? I shall catch her one of these days, so let the young imp do her worst—and take her gruel afterwards!"

Mary yielded the point, according to her invariable custom. "I won't say anything, of course," she said. "It's not my business. But do remember that she's not a baby nor yet a boy, Silas! She's a lady born."

"She's a mischievous little devil," said Silas with decision. "I'm not likely to forget that, anyhow."

The entrance of Peter at this juncture put a timely end to a discussion which Mary had begun to find somewhat distressing. She turned to him with relief on her homely face.

"Ah, now we can have tea! Are you very wet, Peter? Come along to the fire!"

She picked up the teapot again and made room for him to pass her, but he stopped and sat down at the table.

"I'm warm enough, but wanting a good feed badly. Got something nice?"

"Ham and eggs," said Mary. "And there are some sausage-rolls too. Come along, Nero! Here's a bone for you! Eat it in the corner, there's a good dog! Won't you get your boots off, Silas, before you begin?"

But Silas elected to turn his chair round to the table as he was. His face had a harsh look as though his thoughts were occupied with something very far removed from the good cheer that awaited him.

Mary served him first, that being one of the rules of the etiquette she had instituted, and he began to eat in silence.

They followed his lead for a space, then she and Peter began to exchange a few commonplace remarks that left the head of the house entirely to his own meditations. This also was etiquette as Mary had devised it. Silas talked or did not talk according to his inclination.

On the present occasion he was half-way through his meal before he uttered another word. Then abruptly he addressed Peter. "Did you see Miss Bobby when you left the pheasant?"

"Yes," said Peter, munching. "I did. She was up with Miss Matilda, but I waited while Miss Rosemary fetched her. She said I was to thank you very much for the bird, but she won't want a lift to-morrow as she's arranged to send her pigs over in Everett's cart, and he's going to sell them for her."

"What on earth is that for?" said Silas. "She'll have to pay the man commission on everything he sells and probably cartage too."

"Can't say," said Peter, still munching. "Suppose she knows her own business best. Anyhow, that's what she's going to do."

"Why isn't she going in herself?" demanded Silas.

Peter shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "Got Matilda in bed with a chill."

Silas made a violent movement of exasperation. "And what does Rosemary do? Can't she lend a hand?"

Peter's grin broadened. "Rosemary probably has other fish to fry," he said.

"She's but a child," said Mary extenuatingly.

Silas relapsed into heavy silence and drank his tea with the air of one who swallows with difficulty.

There followed a pause, then, as it became evident that Silas had nothing more to say, Mary and Peter resumed their commonplaces, talking together as though they were alone.

Silas was the first to finish, and pushed back his chair. "Do you mind if I go?" he said perfunctorily to Mary.

She opened her kindly eyes in surprise. "Of course not! But, Silas, you're not going out again—not now, all wet as you are?"

His look became dogged. Even in childhood he had never endured any dictation from Mary. "Yes, I am. I'm going up to Little Staple. It's absurd when I'm going in to Bode half-empty and taking Brant too that she should pay Everett to cart her stock."

He spoke with a certain savagery, as if Mary were the aggressor, and she wisely forebore to make any further protest.

A cloud came over her usually contented face, but she merely said, "It seems a pity not to let folks go their own way if they want to."

To which Silas replied by turning with something more than his usual decision of movement and walking out of the room.

"Don't you worry yourself!" said Peter, as the door closed. "She isn't taking any, or I'm much mistaken."

Mary gave a sigh. "I do wish he'd just be happy at home," she said. "He's getting so restless and easily upset. And there's little Miss Rosemary makes a regular laughing-stock of him, and I can't stop her. It fairly worries me, Peter. We can keep order in our own sphere of life, but not beyond it."

"Oh, don't you fret!" said Peter goodnaturedly. "She'll laugh once too often, that kid. I'm not afraid of her getting the upper hand with Silas. What I am afraid of is——"

He broke off, as abruptly the door opened and Silas poked his head round it. "You might clean my gun for me, Peter," he said. "Come on, Nero!" And he was gone again with Nero eagerly scrabbling on the oak floor at his heels.

Mary waited till the sounds of their departure ended in the banging of a door. Then she spoke in a lowered voice.

"What are you afraid of, Peter?"

Peter finished his cup of tea and took his pipe before he answered. Then, with a frown on his goodlooking countenance he made reply.

"I'm afraid, Mary, that he's after something that won't bring him any good,—even if he gets it, which I doubt."

"I know what you mean," said Mary, with another sigh.