grievance at his heart; his eyes held a look of dogged
resentment, and the hand in which he grasped the end of the linen
dust-robe was closed in an almost convulsive grip. When he met
Christopher's gaze he glanced angrily away without speaking, and
then finding himself face to face with his grandfather's scowl he
jerked impatiently in the opposite direction. It was clear that
the tussle of wills had as yet wrung only an enforced submission
from the younger man.

Lifting his head, Christopher stood idly watching the carriage
until it disappeared between the rows of flowering chestnuts;
then, returning in a half-hearted fashion to his work, he found
himself wondering curiously if Fletcher's wrath and Will's
indiscretions were really so great as public rumour might lead
one to suppose.

An answer to his question came the next evening, when he heard a
light, familiar whistle outside the stable where he was at work,
and a moment afterward Will appeared in the shadow of the
doorway.

"So it wasn't a cut, after all?" said Christopher with a laugh,
as he held out his hand.

"I'll be hanged if I know what it was," was Will's response,
turning away after a limp grasp and seating himself upon the big
box in the corner. "To tell the truth, grandpa has put me into
such a fluster that I hardly know my head from my heels. There's
one thing certain, though; if he doesn't take his eye off me for
a breathing space he'll send me to the dogs before he knows it."