"Yes, it is the Squire. I can see his red face, and that little flourish of his stick which he gives when he is angry. They see us by this time, and we may as well hear the battle-royal, if there is one. Listen." Mr Chester's loud voice came up well before him. "I tell you, sir, I tell you your father will live to see you a carping radical yet. When a young fellow gets this sort of notions into his head, we all know what'll be the end of it. Everything respectable goes out by the heels, and he makes a fool of himself over balloting and universal suffrage, and a heap of rascally French republicanisms. How d'ye do, Marion, how d'ye do? Glad to see you, Marmaduke. Hope you're not infected with any of this modern rubbish?" "No, sir, I'm a Conservative. A Liberal-Conservative," added the young man under his breath, not expecting to be heard. But the Squire's quick ears caught the word. "Don't be half anything. There's nothing I think so poorly of as a man that can't make up his mind. He says this on one side and that on another, till he knows no more than a teetotum where his spinning will lead him. I should have twice the opinion of Anthony if he could say straight out what he means, instead of calling himself one thing and talking himself into another." There was a good deal of truth in the Squire's accusation, and the clash was not one for which he had any sympathy. Anthony himself was too young not to be sore upon the charge of inconsistency. He said hotly,-- "Really, sir, I don't know what hedges and draining have to do with the ballot. I have not been the one to say anything about it." "I'm only showing what these ideas lead to," said Mr Chester, enjoying his adversary's irritation. "I'm content to take my land as it came to me. That's good theology, ain't it, Marion? By the way, I forgot to tell you that young Frank Orde comes to-morrow. Come up to dinner, all of you, will you? I dare say he's as bad as the rest, but you'll not make me believe my father hadn't as good common-sense as the young fellows that find fault with his farming." Sometimes, by talking loudly enough, a man becomes impressed with so confident a sense of triumph, that the sound of his own voice is like the salvo of guns over a victory. It was so now with the Squire, who remained in high good-humour during the rest of the walk, and gave Anthony to understand that he looked upon him as crushed and annihilated by an overwhelming weight of argument. CHAPTER SIX.