The next morning I was still more sorry that I had brought Frank to the Grange.  
Mother very rightly me for it, and in a way that showed me that she was more than ever that Joyce should not marry Captain Forrester if she could help it. She said that Joyce was beginning to forget this dandy love affair, and that it was all the more annoying of me to have gone putting my finger in the pie and stirring up old memories. I declared that Joyce was not forgetting Frank at all, and told mother I wondered at her for thinking a daughter of hers could be so , and for supposing that her manner meant anything but the determination to keep to the unfair promise that had been extracted from her.
 
Ah, dear me, if I could have believed in that other string that mother had to her bow for Joyce! But although the came to the Grange just as often as ever, I could not deceive myself into thinking his coming or going made any difference to my sister, whatever might be his feelings towards her. If Joyce had not encouraged her lover, as I thought she ought to have done, that was not the reason. I told myself that the reason was in the different way in which we looked at such matters; but I was sorry I had brought Frank to the Grange.
 
With my of youth, I might have got over mother's scolding if I could have persuaded myself that I had done any good; but I could not but think that I seemed to have done nothing but harm. Joyce was almost distant to me in a way that had never happened before in our lives; and when I tried to her for her coldness, she choked me off in a quiet fashion that there was no withstanding and left me alone, sore and silent and angry. Oh, and there was a worse result of that unlucky visit than all this, although I would not even tell my own heart of it.
 
Joyce, as I have said, was and silent all the next day. To be sure, the weather had turned from that glorious heat to a dull gray, showery fit that was most depressing to everybody. It had most reason to be depressing to Trayton Harrod, who had his eye on the crops even more anxiously than father had himself. The rain had not as yet been heavy or continuous enough to do more than refresh the earth, but a little more might make a serious difference to the wheat and the , of which the one harvest was not yet all , the second nearly ready for picking.
 
This, and the about the broken water-pipes—in which matter he had failed to discover the offenders—were quite enough, of course, to account for the cloud upon the bailiff's brow as I came across him that evening on the of the downs by the new reservoir. I ought to have remembered this; I ought to have the trouble; I should have done so a fortnight ago. But I was ruffed, , unjust.
 
"Well, have you discovered anything more about that ridiculous affair?" I asked, nipping off the of a bush in the hedge as I .
 
"What affair?" asked he, although I knew that he knew well what I meant.
 
"Well, about those water-pipes that you fancy the men have stamped upon to spite you," laughed I, ill-naturedly.
 
He pressed his lips together. "I think I guess pretty well who was at the bottom of it," he said. "But the work is finished now and in working order, so I shall say no more about it."
 
I knew very well that if he could have been certain of his facts he would have said a great deal more about it, and in my unreasonable ill-temper I wanted to make him feel this.
 
"Guessing isn't enough," I replied. "But if you could be sure, it would be far better to let the man know that you have discovered him. You'll never get anything out of these Sussex people by under to them."
 
I was sorry for the words as soon as I had said them, for it was an insulting speech to a man in his position; but I wouldn't show any .
 
"Thank you," he answered, coldly. "I must do the best I can, of course, in managing the Sussex people. But, anyhow, it is I who have to do it."
 
I would not see the just . "Well, if any one is to blame in this it isn't poor old Reuben," I declared, ; "he's , but he isn't mean. It might be Barnstaple. I don't say it is, but it might be. It isn't Reuben."
 
"I am quite of your opinion," answered he. "But as you say, guessing is of no avail, so we had best let the matter drop."
 
He turned to go one way and I the other. But just as we were parting, Reuben appeared upon the of the hill with Luck at his heels. They were inseparable companions. Luck was the one sign of his former calling that still clung to poor old Reuben. But he was very old, older than his master; both had done good work in their day, but both were nearly past work now.
 
"That dog will have to be shot soon," said Trayton Harrod, looking at the way the poor beast dragged itself along, stiff with , which the damp weather had brought out. "I told Reuben so the other day."
 
"Shot!" cried I, with angry eyes. "No one shall shoot that dog while I have a word to say in the matter."
 
And I ran across to where Luck was coming to meet me, his tail wagging with pleasure.
 
"Poor old Luck! poor old fellow!" I murmured, stooping to him. "They want to shoot you, do they? But I won't allow it."
 
"Shoot him!" Reuben, looking round to the bailiff, who had followed me. "Shoot my dog?"
 
"He's not your dog, Reuben," I said. "He's father's, although you have had him for your own so long. And father will have a voice in the matter before he's shot. Don't be afraid. He sha'n't be shot. We can nurse him when he needs nursing, and he shall die peaceably like a human being. He deserves as much any day, I'm sure. He has worked as well."
 
Taff was my special dog, and it was true that Luck had always, as it were, belonged to Reuben, but now that I fancied him in danger, all my latent love of the weak and injured rose up strong within me, and I fought for the post of Luck's champion. Perhaps my mood of unreasonable temper had just a little to do with it too.
 
"You are mistaken," said Trayton, coldly. "The poor beast is ill and weary. It would be a far greater kindness to shoot him."
 
"Well, he sha'n't be shot, then, so there's an end," cried I, , rising to my feet and looking Harrod in the face.
 
"Oh, very good; of course it's not my business," said he.
 
He turned away up the slope. But the spirit of annoyance was in Reuben as it was in me that day.
 
"I came to have a bit of a look at the 'op-fields, master," said he. "The sky don't look just as we might choose, do it?"
 
"This rain is not enough to hurt," growled Harrod, without looking round.
 
"No, no; we might put up with this so long as it don't go on," agreed Reuben, slowly. "We want a bit of rain after all that dry weather. You didn't get your water-pipes laid on in time for the dry weather, did you, Master Harrod? begging your pardon," asked the old man, slyly.
 
"No; some persons took a childish delight in putting them out of order," said the bailiff, turning round sharply; "bu............