His joy was extreme when, late in the afternoon, he discovered an honest labouring man in the act of climbing a gate, which, owing to the rickety condition of its hinges, could not be opened without risk of falling flat upon the ground. “Where be goin’ to?” inquired John, sternly. “Why, jist home-along,” returned the other, with a good-humoured smile; “’tis a bit of a short cut this way.” “There’s to be no more short cuts here,” cried John, with a certain almost malignant triumph. “These here meadows belongs to Squire. They’m his private property.” The man’s jaw dropped. “That’ll be summat noo,” he said doubtfully, but still good-humouredly. “’Tis noo times all round,” replied Guppy, with an odd contraction of the face, “but these ’ere reg’lations ’ull be carried out strict. You jist turn about, my bwoy.” “I be three parts there now,” protested the other. “Then you’ll have to step back three parts, that’s all,” responded Guppy unmoved. The man scratched his head, stared, and finally recrossed the gate, and walked away, grumbling to himself, Guppy looking after him with a sense of well-nigh forgotten dignity. He had vindicated the majesty of the law. All hitherto unconscious trespassers had thenceforth a bad time of it under the reign of the new river-keeper. Would-be bathers, small boys on bird’s-nesting intent, tired women with market-baskets, labourers on their way to and from their daily work, were ruthlessly turned back by old Guppy, whose magisterial air carried conviction with it. The other keepers, laughing perhaps in their sleeves, let him pursue his tactics unmolested, and the Squire was careful to congratulate him from time to time on the success of his labours. John Guppy’s greatest triumph was, perhaps, when he actually did discover a wild duck’s nest amid the sedges of the now tranquil river. How tenderly he watched over it; how proudly he noted the little brood of downy ducklings when they first paddled from one group of reeds to another in the wake of their mother; with what delight he imparted his discovery to the Squire, and with what supreme joy did he invite him to set about the destruction of these precious charges when they were sufficiently grown! Almost equal rapture was his when, having struggled along the avenue with a brace of ducks dangling from each hand, he encountered the head-keeper in the shrubbery. “Those are fine ones,” remarked Sanders, good-naturedly; he was a good-hearted fellow in the main, and did not grudge the old man his small successes. “I should think they was,” returned Guppy, swelling with pride. “They be uncommon fine uns, Maister Sanders; they be the only wild duck what was ever seen on this here property. I be glad to hear,” he added, condescendingly, “as you’ve done pretty well wi’ the pheasants, too. Squire was a-tellin’ me about the good season ye did have.” “Yes,” rejoined the keeper, with a twinkle in his eye; “they didn’t turn out so bad, you see, Mr. Guppy.”