t the Court, and he began
to think that now he really might venture to go and call. So off he
set one sunny afternoon, and with rather a beating heart presented
himself at the park gates.

Here, however, a disappointment awaited him. The lodge-keeper shook
his head, and announced that Mr St Aubyn was away and wouldn't be back
till night. Austin could do nothing but leave a card, and hope that he
might be lucky enough to meet him by accident before long.

So he turned back and made for the meadow by the river side, feeling
sure that he would be safe from rabid dogs that time at any rate. And
certainly no mysterious influences intervened to prevent him sitting
on the stile for a rest, and indulging in pleasant thoughts. Then he
pulled out his pocket-volume of the beloved Eclogues, and read the
musical contest between Menalcas and Damaetas with great enjoyment.
Why, he wondered, were there no delightful shepherd-boys now-a-days,
who spent their time in lying under trees and singing one against the
other? Lubin was much nicer than most country lads, but even Lubin was
not equal to improvising songs about Phyllis, and Delia, and the
Muses. Then he looked up, and saw a stranger approaching him across
the field.

He was a big, stoutish man, with a fat face, a frock-coat tightly
buttoned up, a large umbrella, and a rather shabby hat of the shape
called chimney-pot. A somewhat incongruous object, amid that rural
scene, and not a very prepossessing one; but apparently a gentleman,
though scarcely of the stamp of St Aubyn. At last he came quite near,
and Austin moved as though to let him pass.

"Don't trouble yourself, young gentleman," said the newcomer, in a
good-humoured, offhand way. "Can you tell me whether I'm anywhere near
a place called Moorcombe Court?"

"Yes--it's not far off," replied Austin, immediately interested. "I've
just come from there myself."

"Really, now!" was the gentleman's rejoinder. "And how's me friend St
Aubyn?"

So he was Mr St Aubyn's friend--or claimed to be. "I really
suspected," said Austin to himself, "that he must be a bailiff." From
which it may be inferred that the youth's acquaintance with bailiffs
was somewhat limited. Then he said, aloud:

"I believe he's quite well, thank you, but I'm afraid you'll not be
able to see him. He's gone out somewhere for the day."

"Dear me, now, that's a pity!" exclaimed the stranger, taking off his
hat and wiping his hot, bald head. "Dear old Roger