the assured tones of the rich man to the poor. The Blake hounds
made a sudden rush at the puppies, to be roughly ordered to heel
by their master.

"Well, fire away," returned the young man coolly. "But I may as
well warn you that it's more than likely it will be a clear waste
of breath. I'll have nothing to do with you or your sort." He
leaned on his gun and looked indifferently over the misty fields,
where the autumn's crop of lifeeverlasting shone silver in the
sunrise.

"I don't see why you hate me so," said the boy wonderingly,
checking the too frolicsome adventures of the puppies in the
direction of the hounds. "I've always liked you, you know, even
before you saved my life--because you're the straightest shot and
the best trainer of hounds about here. Grandpa says I mustn't
have anything to do with you, but I will anyway, if I please."

"Oh, you will, will you?" was Christopher's rejoinder, as he
surveyed him with the humorous contempt which the strong so often
feel for the weak of the same sex. "Well, I suppose I'll have my
say in the matter, and strangely enough I'm on your grandfather's
side. The clearer you keep of me the better it will be for you,
my man."

"That's just like grandpa all over again," protested the boy; and
when it comes to that, he needn't know anything about it--he
doesn't know half that I do, anyway; he blusters so about
things."