'He'll go, of course,' reflected the rider. 'Our powers are quite
enough. But if I can't get Mannering to send the notice, it'll be a
deal more trouble. Hullo, here's some one else! This is another pair
of boots!'

He had scarcely turned the corner beyond the farm when another man
came running down the sloping field, calling to him. Sir Henry
pulled up his horse again. But his aspect had changed, and his voice
took another note.

'Did you want to speak to me, Adam? A nice day, isn't it?'

'I saw you, Sir Henry, from the top of the field, talking to Gregson
in the road, and I thought perhaps you'd let me have a few words
with you. You know, sir, this is awfully hard lines.'

Sir Henry looked impatient, but the man who had spoken to him was a
fine specimen of young manhood--broad-shouldered, clear-eyed, with a
natural dignity of manner, not at all a person to be brushed aside.

'I'm sure you can't defend Gregson, Adam,' said Sir Henry, 'you--one
of the best farmers in the district! I wish they had put you on the
Inspection Committee.'

'Well, they didn't,' said the other, perhaps with a slight emphasis.
'And there's many of us feel, I can assure you, as I do. Gregson's a
poor creature, but he hasn't had quite fair play, Sir Henry--that's
what we feel. And he's been fifteen years on his place.' The man
spoke hesitatingly, but strongly. There was a queer, suppressed