“Yes, my lord,” said Johnny, raising himself up so that he was now sitting, instead of lying, as he looked up into the earl’s rosy face.

“I knew your father, and a very good man he was; only he shouldn’t have taken to farming.  People think they can farm without learning the trade, but that’s a very great mistake.  I can farm, because I’ve learned it.  Don’t you think you’d better get up?” Whereupon Johnny raised himself to his feet.  “Not but what you’re very welcome to lie there if you like it.  Only, in October, you know—­”

“I’m afraid I’m trespassing, my lord,” said Eames.  “I came in off the path, and—­”

“You’re welcome; you’re very welcome.  If you’ll come up to the house, I’ll give you some luncheon.”  This hospitable offer, however, Johnny declined, alleging that it was late, and that he was going home to dinner.

“Come along,” said the earl.  “You can’t go any shorter way than by the house.  Dear, dear, how well I remember your father.  He was a much cleverer man than I am,—­very much; but he didn’t know how to send a beast to market any better than a child.  By-the-by, they have put you into a public office, haven’t they?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And a very good thing, too,—­a very good thing, indeed.  But why were you asleep in the wood?  It isn’t warm, you know.  I call it rather cold.”  And the earl stopped, and looked at him, scrutinising him, as though resolved to inquire into so deep a mystery.

“I was taking a walk, and thinking of something, I sat down.”

“Leave of absence, I suppose?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have you got into trouble?  You look as though you were in trouble.  Your poor father used to be in trouble.”

“I haven’t taken to farming,” said Johnny, with an attempt at a smile.

“Ha, ha, ha,—­quite right.  No, don’t take to farming.  Unless you learn it, you know, you might just as well take to shoemaking;—­just the same.  You haven’t got into trouble, then; eh?”

“No, my lord, not particularly.”

“Not particularly!  I know very well that young men do get into trouble when they get up to London.  If you want any—­any advice, or that sort of thing, you may come to me; for I knew your father well.  Do you like shooting?”

“I never did shoot anything.”

“Well, perhaps better not.  To tell the truth, I’m not very fond of young men who take to shooting without having anything to shoot at.  By-the-by, now I think of it, I’ll send your mother some game.”  It may, however, here be fair to mention that game very often came from Guestwick Manor to Mrs Eames.  “And look here, cold pheasant for breakfast is the best thing I know of.  Pheasants at dinner are rubbish,—­mere rubbish.  Here we are at the house.  Will you come in and have a glass of wine?”