to restore his neighbour to himself. Similarly Mr. Boythorn
continues to post tremendous placards on the disputed thoroughfare, and (with
his bird upon his head) to hold forth vehemently against Sir Leicester in the
sanctuary of his own home; similarly, also, he defies him as of old in the
little church, by testifying a bland unconsciousness of his existence. But it is
whispered that when he is most ferocious towards his old foe, he is really most
considerate; and that Sir Leicester, in the dignity of being implacable, little
supposes how much he is humoured. As little does he think how near together he
and his antagonist have suffered, in the fortunes of two sisters; and his
antagonist, who knows it now, is not the man to tell him. So the quarrel goes on
to the satisfaction of both.
    In one of the lodges of the park; that lodge within sight of the house
where, once upon a time, when the waters were out down in Lincolnshire, my Lady
used to see the Keeper's child; the stalwart man, the trooper formerly, is
housed. Some relics of his old calling hang upon the walls, and these it is the
chosen recreation of a little lame man about the stable-yard to keep gleaming
bright. A busy little man he always is, in the polishing at harness-house doors,
of stirrup-irons, bits, curb-chains, harness bosses, anything in the way of a
stable-yard that will take a polish: leading a life of friction. A shaggy little
damaged man, withal, not unlike an old dog of some mongrel breed, who has been
considerably knocked about. He answers to the name of Phil.
    A goodly sight it is to see the grand old housekeeper (harder of hearing
now) going to church on the arm of her son, and to observe - which few do, for
the house is scant of company in these times - the relations of both towards Sir
Leicester, and his towards them. They have visitors in the high summer weather,
when a grey cloak and umbrella, unknown to Chesney Wold at other periods, are
seen among the leaves; when two young ladies are occasionally found gambolling,
in sequestered saw-pits and such nooks of the park; and when the smoke of two
pipes wreathes away into the fragrant evening air, from the trooper's door. Then
is a fife heard trolling within the lodge, on the inspiring topic of the British
Grenadiers; and, as the evening closes in, a gruff inflexible voice is heard to
say,