Part 8 (2/2)

The birds began to come over. John Spence accounted for his due share of them. ”I wish I'd got another gun,” he said. ”You've done well with them this year.”

When they all came together for lunch, Nancy said to Joan, ”Uncle Herbert is in splendid form--I don't mean over shooting, for he has hardly hit anything. Has Jonathan been amusing?”

”No, not at all,” said Joan. ”He has been lecturing me. He is getting old; he is just like father. I will gladly change with you.”

Nancy stared, but said nothing. She and Joan were accustomed to criticise everybody. But they had never yet criticised John Spence.

”Well, my dear Joan,” said the Judge, as she took her place by his side after lunch, ”I heaped disgrace upon myself this morning, and I very much doubt if I shall wipe any of it off this afternoon. The Kencote partridges are too many for me--too many and too fast. Why do I still pursue them, at my age and with my reputation? Is it a genuine love of sport, or mere vanity?”

”Vanity, I think,” said Joan. ”You don't really care about it, you know. You are not like Mr. Spence, and father, and the boys, who think about nothing else.”

”It is true that I do think of other things occasionally. But where does the vanity come in? Enlighten me for my good.”

”Men are like that. Mr. Spence wouldn't be in the least ashamed at being ignorant of all the things that you know about, but you would be quite ashamed of not knowing something about sport.”

”A searching indictment, my dear Joan. It comes home to me. I am a foolish and contemptible old man. And yet I do rather like it, you know. The colours of the trees and the fields, this delicious Autumn air--the expectation--ah!”

The advance guard of a covey had whizzed over his head unharmed; the rest came on, swerving in their rapid flight as if to dodge the charges from his barrels, which all except one of them succeeded in doing.

”More coming. I shall be ready for them next time,” he said, hastily ramming cartridges into his breach.

More came--and most of them went. He had been in the best place, and had only killed three birds.

”I must be content with that,” he said with a sigh. ”It is not bad for me. Your John Spence would have shot three times as many, but he would not have got more fun out of it than I have. Joan, it is not all vanity.”

Joan spent a pleasant afternoon, but she did not feel as happy over it as she would have done a year ago. When she and Nancy summed up the experiences of the day she said, ”I don't mind whether Uncle Herbert can shoot or not. It is much more amusing to be with him than with any of the others.”

”Jonathan said you weren't half as keen on sport as you used to be,”

said Nancy. ”He thinks you are becoming fas.h.i.+onable.”

”Idiot!” said Joan. Then she suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry, but terror at the idea of doing anything so unaccountable--before Nancy--dried up the desire almost as soon as it was felt. ”I am afraid I am getting too old for Jonathan,” she said. ”He is beginning to bore me.”

CHAPTER VII

THE VERDICT

The Squire rang his bell violently, with a loud exclamation of impatience. It was a handbell, on a table by the side of his easy chair, in front of which was a baize-covered rest, with his foot, voluminously swathed, upon it.

A servant answered the bell with but little loss of time. ”Hasn't the groom come back yet?” asked the Squire, in a tone of acute annoyance.

”I told him to waste no time. He must have been dawdling.”

”He was just a-coming into the yard when your bell rang, sir,” replied the man.

”Well, then, why----? Ah, here they are at last. Give them to me, Porter.”

The butler had come in with a big roll of newspapers, which the Squire seized from him and opened hurriedly, choosing the most voluminous of them, and throwing the others on to the floor by his side.

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