way," he said to the handsome gentleman. "'Tis Sunday,
I tell 'ee, and Parson will be here in an hour. This is young
six-foot I was telling about." He turned to Taffy--

"Boy, go and shake hands with Sir Harry Vyell."

Taffy did as he was bidden. "This is my son George," said Sir Harry;
and Taffy shook hands with him, too, and liked his face.

"Put the bag away, Harry," said the Squire.

"Just to comfort 'ee, now!"

"I tell 'ee I won't look at en."

Sir Harry untied the neck of the bag, and drew out a smaller one;
untied this, and out strutted a game-cock.

The old Squire eyed it. "H'm, he don't seem flourishing."

"Don't abuse a bird that's come twelve miles in a bag on purpose to
cheer you up. He's a match for anything you can bring."

"Tuts, man, he's dull--no colour nor condition. Get along with 'ee;
I wouldn' ask a bird of mine to break the Sabbath for a wastrel like
that."

Sir Harry drew out a shagreen-covered case and opened it. Within, on
a lining of pale blue velvet, lay two small sharp instruments of
steel, very highly polished. He lifted one, felt its point, replaced
it, set down the case on the carpet, and fell to toying with the ears
of the Gordon setter, which had come sniffing out of curiosity.

"You're a very obstinate man," said Squire Moyle. After a long pause
he added, "I suppose you're wanting odds?"

"Evens will do," said Sir Harry.

The old man turned and rang the bell.

"Tell Jim to fetch in the red cock," he shouted to the wall-eyed
footman--who must have been waiting in the corridor, so promptly he
appeared.

"And Jim won't be long about it either," whispered Honoria. She had
come forward quietly, and stood at Taffy's elbow.

Sir Harry shook a finger at her and laid it on his lips. But the old
Squire did not hear. He sat glum, pulling a whisker and keeping a
sour eye on the bird, which was strutting about in rather foolish
bewilderment at the pink peonies on the carpet.

"I'm giving you every chance," he grumbled at length.

"Oh, as for that," Sir Harry replied, equably, "have it out in the
yard, if you please, on your own dunghill."

"No. Indoors is bad enough."

Jim appeared just then, and turned out to be Taffy's old enemy, the
Whip, bearing the Squire's game-cock in a basket. He took it out; a
very handsome bird, with a hackle in which gold, purple and the
richest browns shone and were blended.

Sir Harry had picked up his bird and was heeling it wi