“I’ve brought you a couple of rabbits,” continued the Squire. “It never struck me till the other day how you must miss them. I’ll send you some every week. There are enough, Heaven knows.” “I don’t want no rabbits,” growled Guppy; “I bain’t a-goin’ to eat of ’em.” “John!” gasped his wife, hardly believing her ears. “Put ’em back i’ the cart, woman,” he continued; “I bain’t a-goin’ to eat no rabbits what they chaps up yonder have a-ketched.” “Why, John,” said the Squire, sitting down beside him, “can’t you get over it? I thought you would be all right by this time.” “I bain’t all right, Squire, and I can’t get over it. Nay, look at it which way I will, I can’t. Here be I, John Guppy, a bit scram and a bit wambly; but so sound i’ the head as ever I was, whatever my legs mid be. Here be I, anxious for to do my dooty, and able for to do my dooty, and you won’t let I do it. You do give me money what I haven’t earned; you do want I to sit here idle when I’m as ready for a day’s work as any o’ they new-fangled chaps what you’ve a-set up yonder i’ my place.” The Squire sighed and looked hopelessly at Mrs. Guppy, who stood with her hands folded limply at her waist, and a most dolorous expression on her countenance, shaking her head emphatically at every pause in her husband’s speech. After a few further attempts at consolation, the Squire rose and went to the door, followed by his hostess. “What is to be done, Mrs. Guppy?” he inquired, when they were out of earshot. “I positively can’t have him back up there--he isn’t fit for it; and he has been setting all the other men by the ears.” “He’s fair breakin’ ’is ’eart,” murmured Mrs. Guppy dolefully. “He thinks he bain’t o’ no use--and he bain’t--and it’s killin’ ’im. If he could even fancy he was doing summat and ockipy hisself in any way he’d be a different man. ’Tis the thought as nobody wants en what do cut en so.” The Squire cogitated, and then a sudden light broke over his face. “I have it,” he cried. “I have thought of a job for the old fellow! We’ll put him to rights yet, Mrs. Guppy--see if we don’t!” He re-entered the cottage, and approached the inglenook where John still sat, leaning forward, and slowly rubbing the knees of his corduroys. “John,” he said, “I was almost forgetting a most important thing I wanted to say to you. Sanders and Jim have got their hands pretty full up there, as you know.” “I d’ ’low they have,” agreed Guppy; “they’re like to have ’em too full, seein’ as they don’t know how to set about their work nohow.” “Yes, yes. Well, Sanders is very busy all day and Jim has a wide beat. Neither of them ever find time to go near the river. It’s my private belief, John, that that river is dreadfully poached. We’ve next to no wild duck, you know.” “We never did have none, sir,” interrupted Guppy. “Just what I say,” agreed his master; “we never had the chance. You had _your_ hands pretty full when you were head-keeper, hadn’t you?”