The men kind of the family had not yet returned home. Mr. Saxon and Egbert rarely left their office before six, and Athelstane had that day gone over to Birkshaw on the motor-bicycle, to arrange about the medical course which he was to take at the University. There was plenty of news, however, to be exchanged. Ingred had to give a full account of her experiences at school and hostel, and to hear in return the various achievements in the shape of home-carpentry, mending, making, and altering which are always an essential part of settling into a new establishment.
“I hardly feel I’ve been round the estate properly yet,” she said, when tea was over, and she sat leaning back lazily in her deck-chair, with Minx purring upon her knee.
“Then come and lend me a hand with my rabbit-hutch,” suggested Hereward. “Put down that wretched pampered beast of a cat, for goodness sake! If it gets at my new rabbit, I’ll finish it! Yes, I will! I’ll hang it or drown it! Get along, you brute!”
Hereward’s bloodthirsty remarks were ignored by Minx, who, finding herself dropped from Ingred’s lap, took a flying run up his back, and settled herself on his shoulder, rubbing her head into his neck. He scratched her under the chin, swung her gently down, and shook a reproving finger at her.
“Don’t try to come round me with your blarneyings, you siren!” he declared. “Who was it ate my goldfinch? Yes, you may well look guilty! Don’t blink your eyes at me like that! I haven’t forgiven you yet, and I don’t think I ever shall. Ingred, old sport, are you coming to help me, or are you not? I want someone to hold the wire.”
“All right, Uncle Podger, I’ll come and ‘podge’ for you,” laughed Ingred. “Don’t hammer my fingers, that’s all I bargain for. Wait a moment till I get my overall. Your joinering performances are apt to be somewhat grubby and messy.”
There was quite a good garden at the back of the bungalow, with rows of vegetables and gooseberry bushes and fruit-trees. At the end was a wooden shed where the motor-bicycle was kept, and a small wired enclosure originally made for hens.
“It’s exactly the place for rabbits, when I get a hutch for them,” explained Hereward, putting down his box of tools, and turning over the packing-case with a professional eye. “Now a wooden frame covered with wire, and a pair of hinges will just do the job. I can saw these pieces to fit. Hold the wood steady, that’s a mascot!”
The two were kneeling on the ground by the side of the packing-case, much absorbed in the process of exact measurements, when suddenly there was a rustling and a scrambling noise, and on the wall close to them appeared a collie dog, growling, snarling, and showing its teeth. Ingred sprang to her feet in alarm. Wynchcote was so retired that they had scarcely realized that its garden adjoined the garden of another house. The collie must have jumped up on to the dividing wall, and, being an ill-tempered beast, did not use proper discrimination between neighbors and tramps.
“Shoo! Get away!” urged Ingred, with rather shaking knees.
“Be off, you ill-mannered brute!” shouted Hereward.
The dog, however, appeared to think the wall was his own special property, and that it was his business to drive them away from their own garden. It continued to bark and snarl. Now, as Hereward wished to fix the rabbit-hutch in exactly the spot over which the creature had mounted guard, he was naturally much annoyed, and sought for some ready means of dislodging it from its point of vantage. He did not relish the prospect of being bitten, so did not want to engage it at close quarters, and no pole or other weapon lay handy.
Looking hastily round, his eye fell upon the garden-syringe with which Athelstane sometimes cleaned the motor-bicycle. It had been left, with a bucket of water, outside the shed. He drew out the piston, filled the syringe, then discharged its contents straight at the dog. But at that most unlucky moment a quick change took place on the wall; the collie retired in favor of his master, and the stream of water charged full into the astonished countenance of a precise and elderly gentleman from next door. For a few moments there was a ghastly silence, while he wiped his face and recovered his dignity. Then he demanded in withering tones:
“May I ask what is the meaning of this?”
Ingred and Hereward, overwhelmed with confusion, stuttered out apologies and explanations. The old gentleman listened with his busy gray eyebrows knitted and his mouth pursed into a thin line.
“I shall immediately take steps to ensure that my dog has no further opportunities of annoying you,” he remarked stiffly, and took his departure.
“Who is he?” whispered Ingred, as the footsteps on the other side of the wall shuffled away.
“His name’s Mr. Hardcastle. He’s retired, and lives there with a housekeeper. Great Scot! I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I? Who’d have thought he was just going to pop his head up? Dad was going to ask him to lend us his garden-roller, but it’s no use now. I expect I’ve made an enemy of him for life!”
“I hope he means to keep that savage dog fastened up,” said Ingred. “It’s a horrid idea to think that it may, any time, pounce over the wall at us. It’s like having a wolf loose in the garden.”
As a matter of fact, Mr. Hardcastle kept his word in a way that the Saxons least anticipated. Instead of chaining the dog, he had a tall wooden paling erected along the top of the wall, making an effectual barrier between the two gardens. It was
