g old liar! What
does the Mountain do? Out with it!'

'Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,' responded
Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. 'So nayther thee
nor me can talk for certain. Can us?'

'I suppose,' said the surly, burly man, 'you're going to stuff that
young monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?'

Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly
man stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod
and his young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having
somewhat relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and
went off with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching
noisily through the frosty grasses.

'It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put
in authority over us,' said Ichabod, with an expression which belied
these words of humility; 'but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost
think that old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as
well expect cat an' dog t' agree as Reddy and Mountain.'

This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three
or four fields away.

'What was it about the brook, Ichabod?' asked Master Richard.

'Why,' said Ichabod, 'when that old longaway grandfeyther o' thine was
away a-fighting for Cromwell, 'tis said his neighbour turned the brook
so as to bring in four-score acres o' land as ud niver have been his by
right. The Reddy o' that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek
no head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate 'em and
look down upon 'em, and hated an' looked down upon is the name on 'em
from that day to this.'

'But Joe Mountain didn't do it,' said Master Richard.

'No, no,' assented Ichabod. 'But it's i' this way. It's i' the blood.
What's bred i' the bone will come out i' the flesh. Afore thee makest
friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.'

Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.

'Ichabod,' he said at last, 'is a boy _bound_ to be bad if he has a bad
grandfather?'

'Sure!' said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for
want of corroborative fact if he could help it.

Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and retur