Somewhere at the back of Gay's brain, a curtain was drawn, and he saw
clearly as if it were painted in water colour, an English landscape and
a poacher, who had been caught with a stolen rabbit, humbly pulling
the scant locks on his forehead. Well, this was one of the joys of
democracy, doubtless, and he was in for the rest of them. These people
had got the upper hand certainly, as Aunt Kesiah had complained.

"If you think I'll tamely submit to open robbery by such insolent
rascals as you, you're mistaken, young man," he returned.

The next instant he sprang aside and knocked up Archie's gun, which had
been levelled at him. The boy's face was white under his sunburn, and
the feathers on the partridges that hung from his shoulder trembled as
though a strong wind were blowing.

"Rascal, indeed!" he stammered, and spat on the ground after his words
in the effort to get rid of the taste of them, "as if the whole county
doesn't know that you're another blackguard like your uncle before you.
Ask any decent woman in the neighbourhood if she would have been seen in
his company!"

His rage choked him suddenly, and before he could speak again the other
struck him full in the mouth.

"Take that and hold your tongue, you young savage!"

Then as he stooped for his gun, which he had laid down, a shot passed
over his head and whizzed lightly across the meadow.