man should not hear them. But it was incumbent
on him to say something that the man should hear. "I will have no
meddling in the matter, Flurry. Whether there are foxes or whether
there are not, is a matter of no great moment. I will not have a word
said to annoy Mr. Thorne." Then he rode away, back through the wood
and out on to the road, and the horse walked with him leisurely on,
whither the archdeacon hardly knew,--for he was thinking, thinking,
thinking. "Well;--if that ain't the darn'dest thing that ever was,"
said Flurry; "but I'll tell the squire about Thorne's man,--darned if
I don't." now, "the squire" was young Squire Gresham, the master of
the East Barsetshire hounds.

But the archdeacon went on thinking, thinking, thinking. He could
have heard nothing of his son to stir him more in his favour than
this strong evidence of his partiality for foxes. I do not mean it
to be understood that the archdeacon regarded foxes as better than
active charity, or a contented mind, or a meek spirit, or than
self-denying temperance. No doubt all these virtues did hold in his
mind their proper places, altogether beyond contamination of foxes.
But he had prided himself on thinking that his son should be a
country gentleman, and probably nothing doubting as to the major's
active charity and other virtues, was delighted to receive evidence
of those tastes which he had ever wished to encourage in his son's
character. Or rather, such evidence would have delighted him at any
other time than the present. Now it only added more gall to his cup.
"Why should he teach himself to care for such things, when he has not
the spirit to enjoy them," said the archdeacon to himself. "He is a
fool,--a fool. A man that has been married once, to go crazy after a
little girl, that has hardly a dress to her back, and who never was
in a drawing-room in her life! Charles is the eldest, and he shall be
the eldest. It will be better to keep it together. It is the way in
which the country has become what it is." He was out nearly all day,
and did not see his wife till dinner-time. Her father, Mr. Harding,
was still with them, but had breakfasted in his own room. Not a word,
therefore, was said about Henry Grantly between the father and mother
on that evening.

Mrs. Grantly was determined that, unless provoked, she would say
nothing to him till the following morning. He should sleep upon his
wrath before she spoke to him again. And he was equally unwill