“No, sir! Nor intend so to do ... ’twouldn’t be ... be ... ’twouldn’t ... well—’twouldn’t, sir!” “Still, I wonder what she would think?” “Aye, your honour, so do I—vastly! But I don’t know ... never shall know, so—can’t say, sir.” Here they fell silent once more, and presently, rounding a bend in the road, the glory of the Downs burst upon them; range upon range of noble hills whose smooth slopes and gentle undulations have in them something sublimely restful, something suggestive of that beneficent quietude, that reposeful, kindly silence which is infinitely greater and better than any speech. Sir John, having paused awhile to behold this, now set his animal to a trot, when he heard a rattle of wheels behind him and a piping, querulous voice raised in loud complaint: “Hi—theer! Hey! Caan’t ’ee see as oi be a-comin’ so faast as oi may? Boide a bit, boide for oi, young man, ’tidn’t neighbourly t’ roide awaay an’ never a word fur nobody nor no one!” And, glancing round, Sir John espied Mr. Dumbrell, that ancient person, perched in a light cart beside Mr. Potter, who drove a very likely-looking horse. “How are you, Mr. Dumbrell? And you, Potter?” inquired Sir John as they came up. “Middlin’ bad, I be!” answered the Ancient One. “Oi be generally-allus ailin’, oi be! What wi’ that theer ol’ bullet in my innards, an’ my chacketin’ an’ barkin’, an’ me granddarter, an’ the axey—’tis gurt wonder as oi doan’t vade an’ wither into my grave, that it be! An’ to-day I be mighty cuss an’ cluck arl-through-along-on-account-of ’im a-comin’ back! Means trouble ’e du—dannel ’im, oi sez!” “Whom do you mean?” “’Oo should oi mean ’cept ’im! Soon’sever ’e comes, along comes trouble, so dannel ’e twoice, I sez.” “Gaffer do mean Lord Sayle, sir,” explained Mr. Potter. “Aye, ’im!” nodded the Ancient One fiercely. “I seen ’im, I did, lookin’ so black an’ gloomy-glum! ’E be a man as bean’t no account no’ow at arl, as I’d up an’ tell ’un to ’is ’ead, I would! Ah, an’ t’other ’un’s as bad.” “Who is t’other one?” “’Oo? Why, ’im fur sure! ’Im as bean’t nohow s’good as ’is feäther was afore ’im—that’s ’oo, young man.” “’E do mean Sir John Dering, sir,” explained Mr. Potter again. “Ah!” snarled the Ancient One, shaking bony fist. “They be both on ’em come back again to plague the country an’ the loikes o’ we!” “Did you happen to see Sir John Dering, Potter?” inquired Sir John. “No, sir, but they say ’e’s back in Sussex at last.” “An’ ’ardly a mile awaay be ‘The Acorn’!” added the Ancient One; “an’ Ed’ard an’ ’is mistus’ brews good ale! An’ I be that tur’ble dry. What wi’ me a-chacketin’ an’ Old Johnny a-tormentin’ o’ me!” “Old Johnny?” inquired Sir John. “Gaffer means the axey, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter. “And pray what is the axey?” “Don’t tell ’im, Jarge!” snarled Mr. Dumbrell. “’E mus’ be a barn fule.” “’Tis the ager, sir,” explained the patient Potter. “Is your ague indeed so bad, Mr. Dumbrell?”