iner than this pasture? And they want me to lower their
rents!"

And Mr. Dennant's glance satirically wavered, rested on Shelton, and
whisked back to the ground as though he had seen something that alarmed
him. There was a pause.

"Now for it!" thought the younger man.

Mr. Dennant kept his eyes fixed on his boots.

"If they'd said, now," he remarked jocosely, "that the frost had nipped
the partridges, there 'd have been some sense in it; but what can you
expect? They've no consideration, dear souls!"

Shelton took a breath, and, with averted eyes, he hurriedly began:

"It's awfully hard, sir, to--"

Mr. Dennant switched his cane against his shin.

"Yes," he said, "it 's awfully hard to put up with, but what can a fellow
do? One must have farmers. Why, if it was n't for the farmers, there 'd
be still a hare or two about the place!"

Shelton laughed spasmodically; again he glanced askance at his future
father-in-law. What did the waggling of his head mean, the deepening of
his crow's-feet, the odd contraction of the mouth? And his eye caught
Mr. Dennant's eye; its expression was queer above the fine, dry nose (one
of the sort that reddens in a wind).

"I've never had much to do with farmers," he said at last.

"Have n't you? Lucky fellow! The most--yes, quite the most trying
portion of the human species--next to daughters."

"Well, sir, you can hardly expect me--" began Shelton.

"I don't--oh, I don't! D 'you know, I really believe we're in for a
ducking."

A large black cloud had covered up the sun, and some drops were
spattering on Mr. Dennant's hard felt hat.

Shelton welcomed the shower; it appeared to him an intervention on the
part of Providence. He would have to say something, but not now, later.

"I 'll go on," he said; "I don't mind the rain. But you'd better get
back, sir."

"Dear me! I've a tenant in this cottage," said Mr. Dennant in his,
leisurely, dry manner "and a beggar he is to poach, too. Least we can do
's to ask for a little shelter; what do you think?" and smiling
sarcastically, as though deprecating his intention to keep dry, he rapped
on the door of a prosperous-looking cottage.

It was opened by a girl of Antonia's age and height.

"Ah, Phoebe! Your father in?"

"No," replied the girl, fluttering; "father's out, Mr. Dennant."

"So sorry! Will you let us bide a bit out of the rain?"

The sweet-looking Phoebe dusted them two chairs, and, curtseying, left