"Why, man," cried my father, angrily, "did I not tell you they were
tame! And now you have lost us good provender!" He raised his gun.
But here Nat touched his arm. "Let me follow them, sir, and see
which way they take. Being so tame, they have likely enough some
master or herdsman up yonder--"
"Or herdswoman," I laughed. "Take me with you, Nat."
"Nay, that I won't," he answered, with a quick blush. "You have the
temper of Adonis--
"'Hunting he lov'd, but love he laughed to scorn,'
"and I fear his fate of you, one little Adonis among so many boars!"
"Then take _me_" urged Mr. Badcock. "Indeed, sir," he apologized,
turning to my father, "the movement was involuntary. I am no coward,
sir, though a sudden apprehension may for the moment flush my nerves.
I desire to prove to you that on second thoughts I am ready to face
all the boars in Christendom."
"I did not accuse you," said my father. "But go with Mr. Fiennes if
you wish."
Nat nodded, tucked his musket under his arm, and strode out of the
churchyard with Mr. Badcock at his heels. By the gateway he halted a
moment and listened; but the voice sang no longer from the ridge.
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