per growl from the landlord and a
further burst of outlandish laughter from my acquaintance, the
game-keeper. Presently:

"Why, sir, if I tell you," declared the latter, "them birds all know
me like I was their father, they do. I says, 'Good morning' regular
and them birds all bows to me, they does."

When the laughter had subsided, scenting possible information:

"I gather," said I, "that you get few shooting-parties nowadays?"

Gloom descended upon both my gossips.

"You're right, you are, sir," replied the game-keeper. "He's right,
ain't he, Martin?"

Martin, the landlord, growled. It occurred to me that he regarded the
other with a certain disfavor.

"This 'ere country," continued the game-keeper, vaguely waving his arm
around, "is a blighted spot. A blighted spot, ain't it, Martin?"

Martin growled, whilst the game-keeper studied him covertly.

"Since Sir Burnham went to his long rest these 'ere parts ain't knowed
themselves. I'm tellin' you, sir. Ain't knowed 'emselves. It's all
that quiet, winter and summer alike. The Park all shut up; and the
Park _was_ the Park in them days--warn't it, Martin?"

Martin achieved speech; he removed his pipe, and:

"It were, Hawkins," he concurred.

Silence fell for a minute or two. My new acquaintance, Hawkins, and
Martin both seemed to be pondering upon the degeneracy of Upper
Crossleys, and I could mot help thinking that Hawkins took a secret
delight in it. Then:

"Surely the Park is still occupied by Lady Coverly?" I asked.

"Aye," Hawkins nodded. "She's kep' me on, me and the missus, she has,
like the real lady she is. But things is different; things is wrong.
Ain't they, Martin?" he asked, with a mischievous glance at the stolid
host.

"Things is," agreed Martin.

"Best part of Park be shut up," declared Hawkins. "Horses gone,
carriages gone, everybody gone; only me and my old woman."

"There must be house servants," I interjected.

"My old woman!" cried Hawkins triumphantly; "same as I'm tellin' you!"

"You mean that Lady Coverly lives alone in the place with only--er,
Mrs. Hawkins to look after her?"

It was Martin the landlord who answered my question.

"Things ain't right," he observed, and returned to his mouth the pipe
which he had removed for the purpose of addressing me.

"You don't know half of it," declared Hawkins. "What's _my_ job, for
instance? I ask you--what is it?"

Having thus spoken, he exchanged a significant look with the land