gas.

After this disasters multiplied. Dark and the rain had transformed the
farce into something else. It was five-thirty when at last he reached
The Firs, and the garden of The Firs was filled with lamentable
complainings of a remnant of geese. His man Pond met him with a
stable-lantern.

'Damp, sir,' said Pond.

'Oh, nowt to speak of,' said Mr. Curtenty, and, taking off his hat, he
shot the fluid contents of the brim into Pond's face. It was his way of
dotting the 'i' of irony. 'Missis come in?'

'Yes, sir; I have but just rubbed the horse down.'

So far no reference to the surrounding geese, all forlorn in the heavy
winter rain.

'I've gotten a two-three geese and one gander here for Christmas,' said
Mr. Curtenty after a pause. To inferiors he always used the dialect.

'Yes, sir.'

'Turn 'em into th' orchard, as you call it.'

'Yes, sir.'

'They aren't all here. Thou mun put th' horse in the trap and fetch the
rest thysen.'