"
"I thought Sir Jovian had been a kind master," said Harriet.
"This was not Sir Jovian. Poor gentleman, he was not often out a-
hunting. This was one of the fine young rakish fellows from Lunnun
as were always swarming about my Lady, like bees over that maybush.
Sir Thomas Donne, I think they called him. They said he got killed
by a wild boar, hunting in foreign parts, afterwards, and serve him
right! But there! They would all do her bidding, whether for bad
or good, so maybe it was less his fault than hers. She is a bitter
one, is my Lady, for all she looks so sweet. And this her young
barrowknight will be his own mother's son, and I don't want none of
'em down here. 'Tis a good job we have your good papa, the Major,
to stand between her and us; I only wish he had his own, for a rare
good landlord he would be."
The Dame's vain wishes were cut short by shrieks from the poultry-yard,
where Eugene was discovered up to his ankles in the black ooze of the
horse-pond, waving a little stick in defiance of an angry gander, who
with white outspread wings, snake-like neck, bent and protruded, and
frightful screams and hisses, was no bad representation of his namesake
the dragon, especially to a child not much exceeding him in height.
The monster was put to rout, the champion dragged out of the pond,
breathlessly explaining that he only wanted to look at the goslings
when the stupid geese cackled and the gander wanted to fly at his eyes.
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