He chumbled his straw for some time, until the last cow had disappeared. Then he said: 'You'm up early for a married 'ooman, or whatever you be, missus.' Hazel laughed. She had lived so completely outside the influence of the canons of society that the taunt had no sting. 'Ha! you're jealous!' she said. Then, with a mercilessly accurate imitation of his voice and face, she added: 'A missus at Undern! Never will I!' He quailed under her mocking amber eyes, her impish laughter. Then, looking from side to side with suppressed fury, he said: 'Them birds is after the cherries! I'll get a gun. I'll shoot 'em dead!' 'If you shoot a blackbird, the milk'll turn bloody,' said Hazel; but Vessons paid no heed. All morning, at any spare moment, and after dinner (which he brought in in complete silence, and which was exceedingly unpalatable), he lurked behind trees and crept along hedges, shooting birds. Even Reddin felt awed and could not gather courage to expostulate with him. In and out of the stealthy afternoon shadows, black and solemn, went the shambling old figure with his relentless face and outraged heart. He shot thrushes as they fluted after a meal of wild raspberries; he shot tiny silky willow-wrens, robins, and swallows--their sacredness did not awe him--a pigeon on its nest, blackbirds, a dipper, a goldfinch, and a great many sparrows. The garden and fields were struck into silence because of him; only a flutter of terrified wings showed his whereabouts. He piled his trophies--all the delicate ruffled plumage of summer's prime--on the kitchen table, draggled and bloody. Hazel and Reddin crept from window to window, silent, watching his movements. Undern grew ghostlier than ever, seeming, as the shots rang out startlingly loud in the quiet, like a moribund creature electrified by blows. 'He'd liefer it was me than the birds!' said Hazel. 'Wheresoever I go, folk kill things. What for do they?' 'Things must be killed.' 'It seems like the earth's all bloody,' said Hazel. 'And it's allus the little small uns. There! He's got a jenny-wren. Oh, dearie me! it's like I've killed 'em; it's all along of me coming to Undern.' 'Hush!' said Reddin sharply. 'What I'm afraid of is that he'll shoot himself, he's so damned queer.' The last cow had sauntered to the gate before Vessons opened it and milked them that night. Afterwards he went in with the pails, set them on the parlour floor, and said with fury to Hazel: 'Bloody, is it?' She owned, faintly, that it was not. 'And now,' said Vessons, turning on Reddin, 'it's notice. Notice has been give--one month--by Andrew Vessons to John Reddin, Esquire, of Undern.' With tragic dignity he turned to go.