"Well, if it's all th' same to ye, Mr. Lummax, I'd rather tak th' Squire o' Saxilton's game: he niver give me nowt, didn't Squire, save a cut on th' side o' th' heäd wi' his riding-whip; there warn't no bank-notes parted company wi' _him_." This was a touch of morality that tickled Griff mightily. "The old Squire is that kind of man," he laughed. "If he takes to a man, he can't do too much for him; but if he doesn't----" "The Lord help him!--He's a rough customer, is Roger Daneholme: I reckon ye'll know him?" "Only by repute. Perhaps you'll introduce me some night, Jack?" "Happen I will, sir--wi' the stock of a gun for salute. What!--going? Well, good neet, sir; good neet." CHAPTER VI. THE RISING WIND. They dined in the middle of the day at Marshcotes Manor, and they dined well. Mrs. Lomax, consequently, liked to have a clear hour's sleep in the afternoon--a luxury which Griff made the basis of one of those tender little accusations that were constantly passing between mother and son. "And now, I suppose, you will want to _reflect_ for awhile," he said, when Thursday's dinner was over and Mrs. Lomax had risen from the table. "You need not put that ironical emphasis on the 'reflect,' Griff. I want to sleep, and am not ashamed to confess it." "Yet you grumble when my work takes me away from you. I'm going to be jealous, too: I grudge you that wasted hour." "Foolish boy! You may kiss me, if you like, just as a bribe to get rid of you. There, there; away you go. Are you going to ride?" "Yes; for an hour or so." "Of course. If it is not your ridiculous work that stands in the way, then you must needs rush off to the stable. It is lucky for me, Griff, that I _can_ sleep with such a thankless son on my conscience." "Talk to Lassie about it, mother: she will have exercise, and no one but I can manage her properly. That's what I like about the mare; she is twice as faithful as any woman I have come across--except my mother." Mrs. Lomax frowned, a real frown; she did not like Griff's occasional flippancies about women. "I think, boy, if you had stayed at Marshcotes, your opinions might have kept more wholesome. Your south-country women must be curious, Griff." He smiled a little at her prejudices, and patted her on her rough grey hair, and went out. But a cloud was on his face as he mounted Lassie, standing saddled at the door. "I think," he murmured, "that if mother knew about Sybil Ogilvie, and the dance she led me, she would never speak to me again." The blood rushed hot to his cheeks, and Lassie was surprised by an impatient jerk of the snaffle. She would stand a good deal from Griff, but an unprovoked assault of this kind, before ever they had cleared the garden gravel, was too much for any mare of good breeding. She shook her head just once, and tore through the open gate like a thing bewitched.