'And then I must be off to the stables to see what cattle are there, and renew my acquaintance with old Johnnie Buckle, who taught me how to take my flying leaps--never to funk at a bullfinch, a sunk fence, a mill race, or anything. Many of Johnnie's tricks stood me in good stead, Maude, when I was with poor Hicks and Baker in Egypt,' said Roland. Strolling forth in the bright morning sunshine, amid which the house of Earlshaugh, with its massive walls of polished ashlar, its machicolated battlement and tall, old windows, glittered in light, with masses sunk in shadow, he was met by the head gardener, old Willie Wardlaw, whom he remembered as a faithful servitor in years past (and whose rarest peaches he had stolen many a time and oft), with a hand outstretched in welcome, and his hat in the other, as he bowed his silvery head in token of respect. 'Oh, sir, but I've been langing to see ye ere it is owre late and the mischief done!' he exclaimed. 'What mischief?' 'The meadowing o' the park and lawn, where never a plough has been since the King was in Falkland.' 'Who has suggested this piece of utilitarian barbarity?' asked Roland with lowering brow. 'Wha wad it be but Mr. Hawkey Sharpe? Pawkie-Sharpe wad be a better name for him,' was the contemptuous response, made with evident bitterness of heart. 'I'll see to that, Willie,' said Roland as he strode on, but soon to be confronted by another official--a kind of forester--who had charge of all the timber on the property. 'I hope, Captain,' said the latter, 'you're in time to save the King's Wood, sir.' 'What do you mean?' 'Ye surely ken it is doomed--a' to the King's Thorn?' 'Doomed--how?' 'To be cut down and sold--a black, burning shame! Some o' the aiks are auld as the three Trees o' Dysart!' 'By whose order?' asked Roland, greatly ruffled. 'Oh, Mr. Hawkey Sharpe's, of course.' 'But why?' 'It is no for me to say, sir,' replied the old man uneasily; 'but folk hint that when a body backs the wrong horse at races some one maun pay the piper. Maister Sharpe cuts gey near the wind, and comes aftener wi' the rake than the shool; but he'll get a bite o' his ain bridle, I hope, yet!' 'Racing, is it? I shall see this matter attended to also. His presumption is unparalleled!' said Roland, as with something between a groan and an imprecation on his lips he passed on, to look after a mount for Annot Drummond, and to digest this new piece of information--that the so-called steward was about to cut down one of the oldest of the ancestral woods on the property to meet a gambling debt!