"Then it's all true," he mused. "There are soldiers about, and if they catch that poor fellow they will march him off to prison--and he is so ill after being hunted about. Oh, it's too bad!" he continued, growing more and more excited. "And there's no knowing what they would do. Why, they hung the poor wretch who wasn't much more than a boy for stealing that sheep; and I believe it was only because he was hungry and out of work. Here, I know I oughtn't to interfere, but father isn't at home, and I feel as if I ought to do something. I want to do something. It seems so horrid. Suppose it had been I who went on like that poor fellow did. I don't think I should ever do such a thing as he has, but what did he say? He came over with his father. Well, suppose I went over to France with my father. Of course, it isn't likely, but one might have done such a thing, and I daresay they have got a New Forest in France. To be sure they have, and I know its name--Fountainebleau. Only fancy if I were being hunted through that place by soldiers. Ugh! If there was a young fellow there found me--a young fellow just about my age--and did not help me, he'd be a brute." In his excitement the boy went on marching up and down the quaint, old panelled dining-room, with his fists clenched and his eyes staring, as he recalled the scene in the woods that morning. Just as he was opposite the door it was thrown open quickly by Bella, who entered with the tea-tray, and who stopped short, startled by the boy's fierce looks, while as he turned sharply round to march to the other end of the room, Bella hurriedly placed the tea-tray upon the table, and then hastened back to go and tell Martha the cook that she believed Master Waller was going mad. CHAPTER SIX. A GOOD APPETITE. "Yes, I'll mad him," retorted the cook, "if he comes meddling with my larder when my back's turned. I have a very great mind not to finish cooking those sausage-meat cakes for his tea--behaving like that when the Squire's out!" But all the same Martha Gusset, who was a pleasant, portly dame, went back to her fire to continue her hurried cooking for her young master's evening meal. Meanwhile, without a thought of eating or drinking, Waller was still marching up and down the dining-room making up his mind what he should do; and, this made up, he waited impatiently for the maid's return to finish her preparations, which were concluded by her bearing in a covered dish which evidently contained something hot and steaming, the vapour which escaped from beneath the cover having a very pleasant, savoury odour. "There, Master Waller," said the girl good-humouredly. "Now, do make a good tea, there's a good boy, and you know what cook is; she don't like to be put out. I know what I should do if I was you." "What?" said Waller, rather surlily.