f most of his shrubs, which occupied a
considerable time until, at last, by way of the kitchen-garden and
strawberry beds, they came to a little pond and rustic summer-house,
near which the boundary fence was unconcealed by any trees or shrubs.

'See that gap?' said Mr. Lightowler, pointing to a paling of which the
lower half was torn away; 'that's where 'Umpage's blathering old
gander gets through. I 'ate the sight of the beast, and I'd sooner
'ave a traction-engine running about my beds than him! I've spoke
about it to 'Umpage till I'm tired, and I shall 'ave to take the law
into my own hands soon, I know I shall. There was Wilcox, my gardener,
said something about some way he had to serve him out--but it's come
to nothing. And now we'll go in for a wash before dinner.'

Uncle Solomon was a widower; a niece of his late wife generally lived
with him and superintended his domestic affairs--an elderly person,
colourless and cold, who, however, had a proper sense of her position
as a decayed relative on the wife's side, and made him negatively
comfortable; she was away just then, which was partly the reason why
Mark had been invited to bear his uncle company.

They dined in a warm little room, furnished plainly but well; and
after dinner Uncle Solomon gave Mark a cigar, and took down a volume
of American Commentaries on the Epistles, which he used to give a
Sunday tone to his nap; but before it could take effect, there were
sounds faintly audible through the closed windows, as of people
talking at the end of the grounds.

Mr. Lightowler opened his drooping eyelids: 'There's some one in my
garden,' he said. 'I must go out and put a stop to that--some of those
urchins out of the village--they're always at it!'

He put on an old garden-hat and sallied out, followed by Mark: 'The
voices seem to come down from 'Umpage's way, but there's no one to be
seen,' he said, as they went along. 'Yes, there is, though; there's
'Umpage himself and his friends looking across the fence at something!
What does he want to go staring on to _my_ land for--like his
confounded impudence!'

When they drew a little nearer, he stopped short and, turning to Mark
with a face purple with anger, said, 'Well, of all the impudence--if
he isn't egging on that infernal gander now--put him through the 'ole
himself, I daresay!'

On arriving at the scene, Mark saw the formidable old gentleman of
that morning glaring angrily over the fence; by his side