against this his son had expostulated,
urging that his father could not hasten the work up in London by
his presence, but would certainly annoy and flurry everybody in the
lawyer's office. Mr. Carey had promised that the thing should be
done with as little delay as possible, but Mr. Carey was not a man
to be driven. Then again the Squire would be a miserable man up
in London, whereas at the Priory he might be so happy among the
new works which he had already inaugurated. The son's arguments
prevailed,--especially that argument as to the pleasure of the
Squire's present occupations,--and the Squire consented to remain at
home.

There seemed to be an infinity of things to be done, and to the
Squire himself the world appeared to require more of happy activity
than at any previous time of his life. He got up early, and was out
about the place before breakfast. He had endless instructions to give
to everybody about the estate. The very air of the place was sweeter
to him than heretofore. The labourers were less melancholy at their
work. The farmers smiled oftener. The women and children were more
dear to him. Everything around him had now been gifted with the grace
of established ownership. His nephew Gregory, after that last dinner
of which mention was made, hardly came near him during the next
fortnight. Once or twice the Squire went up to the church during
week days that he might catch the parson, and even called at the
parsonage. But Gregory was unhappy, and would not conceal his
unhappiness. "I suppose it will wear off," said the Squire to his
son.

"Of course it will, sir."

"It shall not be my fault if it does not. I wonder whether it would
have made him happier to see the property parcelled out and sold to
the highest bidder after my death."

"It is not unnatural, if you think of it," said Ralph.

"Perhaps not; and God forbid that I should be angry with him because
he cannot share my triumph. I feel, however, that I have done my
duty, and that nobody has a right to quarrel with me."

And then there were the hunters. Every sportsman knows, and the
wives and daughters of all sportsmen know, how important a month in
the calendar is the month of October. The real campaign begins in
November; and even for those who do not personally attend to the
earlier work of the kennel,--or look after cub-hunting, which during
the last ten days of October is apt to take the shape of genuine
hunting,--October has charms of it