"You won't live to see that, dear man," he said quietly, and turned away. CHAPTER LVIII THE PLANK CAPONIER Kit was in the cellar stripping his belt and cartridge-pouch from Blob's Grenadier. As he rose from his knees Piper hailed him. "Mr. Joy callin you, sir." The boy ran up the ramp. The old man, handling his musket, was peering through the Northward loop-hole. "What is it?" "Summat up yonder, sir." The boy raced up the ladder. The Parson was at the dormer looking towards the Downs, shimmering now in the fair evening. "What's the meaning of this?" he said, pointing. A great Sussex wain, top-heavy with hay, was drawing out of a farmyard among trees, a quarter of a mile away. A white horse was in the shafts, and a black in the lead. Two Grenadiers were at the head of the black leader, who was giving trouble. Others in shirt-sleeves were mounting to the top of the load. "Old Gander's wain," said the Parson. "That's old mare Jenny in the shafts, and her three-year-old daughter in the lead. Ha, Miss Blossom!--That's your sort!--Knock em sprawling!--Teach the Mossoos to handle an English lady!" A tall man ran out of the farmyard, a snow-storm of white-frocked children pursuing him; and even at that distance Parson and boy could hear them screaming laughter. The tall man snatched up one and kissed her. Then he took off his hat with an enormous sweep to the others, and turned. "Humph! posing rather prettily this time!" muttered the Parson, watching kind-eyed. On the top of the wain, clear against the sky, a tall figure now rose, and gathered the rope-reins in his hand. The men at the leader's head jumped aside. Up she went, sky-high. The coachman handled her as a mother handles a wilful child. The wind was towards them, and they could hear him singing to her. "Hum! he can handle the ribands a bit," muttered the Parson, watching intently. "Miss Blossom's never tasted a bit before." The filly dropped, and flung forward with the shock of a breaking wave. The slope was with them. The old mare, with snarling head and backward ears, broke into a lumbering trot, snatching at her daughter's tail. The wain began to gather weigh, creaking, jolting, jerking along. The filly was tearing into her collar; the old mare, swept along by the pursuing wain, broke into a heavy gallop. The Gentleman, holding them hard, was singing to them as they came. "Mean mischief, sir," called Piper from below. "Jove, they do!" muttered the Parson, chin forward, and eyes flaming as he watched. "Like a Horse Artillery battery coming into action." The wain leapt and swung and bounced along like a live thing. "Ah, I thought so.... Pace too good.... He's dropping his load.... Ah!--there goes another!" A Grenadier was seen to fall with flapping tails, and another, and another; till the track of the thundering wain was strewn with men, who picked themselves up and pursued.