That is how the song begins. But it is about another cock-fight; not that at Waterloo. Cock-fighting is Mr. Puddicombe’s pursuit. We have all got our pursuits, and why not? There’s a man just outside Newton is wonderful hot upon flowers. His garden is a picture; he makes it blaze with various kinds of the finest coloured--foreign and English plants: that’s his pursuit. Then there is a doctor at Teignmouth who goes out with a net catching butterflies, and he puts ale and treacle on the trees in the evening for catching moths: that’s his pursuit. And our parson likes dabbling with a brush and some paints: that’s his pursuit. And business is mine: that’s my pursuit and my pleasure--and it’s profit too.” “Sometimes; not often,” threw in Zerah. “Well, I don’t know what your pursuits be, Mr. Schoolmaster,” said Pepperill. “Let us hope they’re innocent as those of Mr. Puddicombe.” The young man glanced round him, staggered at his reception, and caught the eye of Kate. She was looking at him intently, and in her look were both interest and pity. “We won’t argue any more,” said Pasco. “I suppose you can eat starigazy pie?” “I am ashamed to say I never heard of it.” “Never heard of it? And you set to teach our children! Zerah, tell Mr. Schoolmaster what starigazy pie is.” “There is nothing to tell,” said Zerah ungraciously. It was her way to be ungracious in all she said and all she did. “It is fish pie--herrings or pilchards--with their heads out of the crust looking upwards. That is what they call star-gazing in the fishes, and, in short, starigazy pie. But if you don’t like it, there is our old stag coming on presently.” “Do you know, I shall have made two experiences to-day that are new to me. In the first place, I shall make acquaintance with starigazy pie, that promises to be excellent; and in the next place, I may add that it never has been my luck hitherto to taste venison.” “What’s that?” asked Mrs. Pepperill sharply; she thought Bramber was poking fun at her. “I never have had the chance before of tasting venison--the meat of the rich man’s table.” “No means, you know,” said Pasco. “Without private means you can’t expect to eat chicken.” “Our old stag is hardly chicken,” said Zerah. “You see, now we’ve got a young stag, we didn’t want the old one any more.” “Solomon Puddicombe married my second cousin,” observed Pepperill. “Her name was Eastlake. Are you single?” “Yes, that is my forlorn condition.” “Well, look sharp and marry into the parish. It’s your only chance. You see, the farmers are all against you. They were partial to Puddicombe, and I hear he is intending to set up a private school. The farmers and better-class folk will send their children to him. They don’t approve of their sons and daughters associating with the labourers’ children, though they did send some to the National School so long as Solomon Puddicombe was there; but that was because he was so greatly respected.”