Sir Richard was accustomed to give much thought to his position as holder of one of the oldest baronetcies in England, to the responsibilities that such a position laid upon himself, to the beauty and fertility of his demesne, to the timbered glories of his Hall, and to the honorable record of his family; but on the day annually devoted to riding round his ten thousand acres he never allowed himself to think about anything else. He even went so far, when in the depths of the wood neither squirrel moved nor bird chattered and there was none but the gray gelding to overhear him, as to cry aloud in exultation the motto of his house _Floreant Flores_. On this day dedicated to himself, his family, and his land, Sir Richard indulged in so many whimsicalities of behavior that an observer might have supposed him the prey of madness or the victim of degraded superstition. Thus at one point he dismounted from his horse and, kneeling in the middle of the ride, placed an outspread palm upon the cushions of moss and incorporated the thousands of green and golden stars within his allegiance. He went farther; he laid bare the earth beneath and commanded a congregation of disturbed millipedes to acknowledge him as master. He made with his hands a cup to contain the black earth, and let it trickle through his fingers as a miser might play with his gold. "Mine," he said aloud, and stood for a moment in amazement at one who owned not merely all the green world within sight, but four thousand miles of unimaginable territory beneath his feet. "Mine," he repeated, "and after me John, and after John another Richard. Praise God that I appreciate the state of life to which He has called me;" with this apostrophe the baronet swept off his high silk hat to salute his patron. Sir Richard kept such extravagance of speech and gesture for the solitude of the woodland. No sooner had he emerged into one of the deep, hazel-bordered lanes that intersecting his demesne reminded him, deserted though they were, of the world beyond his boundaries, than he became the least fantastic inhabitant of that decorous countryside of well-tilled farms and preserved coverts. Sir Richard was close on sixty; but his slim figure, upright carriage, and clear-cut features enhanced by iron-gray whiskers, bushy enough to show that he was not afraid of the fashion and yet not so full as to mark him down the slave of that fashion, made him appear younger at a period when twenty-five looked middle-aged. Every good horseman gives the impression of being part of his steed, and Sir Richard on his gray gelding, with his gray whiskers and gray riding breeches and gray frieze tail-coat was as natural a centaur as Chiron himself. "Good morning, Sir Richard." The baronet pulled up to exchange a word with the first of his tenant farmers he was to meet that day, a bull-necked, stubby man who was leaning over a gate against a background of bright green barley.