Major Stanworth, whose alien presence that evening Walter and Sally had rather dreaded, turned out to be a charming person. At the beginning of dinner he seemed shy and silent, but Walter presently let loose a perfect flood of conversation by saying: ‘And what was the matter with the dead ewe? I gather you were having an autopsy when Amabelle came along the other day. I hope there was no suspicion of foul play?’
Major Stanworth shook his head sadly. ‘Nearly as bad, I fear,’ he said; ‘she was suffering from a disease known as the fluke, and once that gets among our sheep it is a knockout blow to us farmers. However, as that is the only case I have had so far I must hope for the best.’
‘Oh, yes, I know,’ said Walter brightly; ‘fluke and mouth. I’ve heard of that before, but I thought only foxhounds had it.’
The major looked rather surprised, and was about to speak when Sally said, ‘Don’t pay any attention to Walter, he’s as ignorant as a bat, poor sweet. I remember quite well when one of our farmers at home was nearly ruined by the fluke; it’s a horrible scourge. Something to do with the sheep’s liver, isn’t it?’
‘The fluke,’ said Major Stanworth, sipping his sherry, ‘is really a small insect. It has the most curious and interesting life history – I wonder whether you would care to hear it?’
‘Indeed we would,’ said Walter enthusiastically. ‘I always think that one half of the world knows too little of how the other half lives.’
Thus encouraged, Major Stanworth proceeded:
‘The fluke begins life as a little worm. It is born into the sheep’s liver and there it reaches maturity, marries, and has an inordinate number of children,’ he paused impressively, ‘totally different from itself.’
‘How extraordinary,’ said Amabelle.
‘I don’t think so at all,’ said Sally. ‘Look at Elspeth Paula.’
‘These children,’ continued the major, ‘are almost immediately passed out by the sheep and find their way, as soon as may be, into the lung of – the water snail. Here they in their turn marry, reach maturity, and in due course have an inordinate number of children totally different from themselves.’
‘What a romance!’ said Walter. ‘And pray where are the next wedding bells to be heard?’
‘In the snail’s liver. The children who were born in its lung find their way to the liver, where they reach maturity, marry, and have an inordinate number of children totally different from themselves, who are passed out of the snail, on to a blade of grass, and so back once more into the sheep’s liver.’
‘Well, I do call that a tasteful roundelay,’ said Walter.
Sally choked.
‘Have some fish,’ said Amabelle, tactfully changing the subject. ‘It is very good for the brain. I have seen it reported that Lloyd George eats great quantities of fish.’
‘No fish, thank you,’ said the major.
‘When does your little boy begin his holidays?’ asked Amabelle. Major Stanworth was a widower with an only son. His wife had died the preceding year.
‘Comes back tomorrow.’
‘Do you go down often and see him at his school?’
‘About twice a term, you know. Unsettles the boy if one goes oftener. As a matter of fact I went down last week for the annual sports, and rather a ghastly thing happened. The father of one of the boys died in the fathers’ race – just collapsed, poor chap, and died. We carried him into the gymnasium – he was a stoutish cove, too – but it was no good; he was quite dead before the doctor could get at him even.’
‘What an awful thing,’ said Amabelle. She was arriving at an age which no longer regards death as a funny joke.
‘At my private,’ said Walter, ‘we had a most handy little cemetery for the fathers, just behind the cricket pav. But of course, we had a fathers’ three-legged race which used to finish them off in shoals. I have even known them die at the prize-giving, from shock, I suppose, if their boys got prizes.’
‘Not a bad idea that about the cemetery, what?’ said the major. ‘I always have said “where the oak falls, there let it lie”. This poor bloke was lugged off to Suffolk in a motor hearse, I believe.’
‘Why oak, I wonder?’ said Walter. ‘Why not sycamore or monkey puzzle?’
Amabelle frowned at him and asked Major Stanworth whether he had been hunting that winter.
‘I have been, of course, but this beastly foot and mouth has stopped us for the present. However, Lady Bobbin tells me that if there’s no fresh outbreak we should be able to start again in about ten days’ time, she thinks.’
‘Is Lady Bobbin a good Master?’
‘Foul mouthed, very foul mouthed, you know. Scares all the young ’uns out of their wits, but she’s very good with the farmers, they understand her. Do you hunt, Monteath?’
‘I love it,’ said Walter. ‘Unfortunately, I only did it once. Before that I used to write articles in the newspapers saying that it was cruel and ought to be stopped and so on. But when I found out what jolly fun it is I gave that up in no time.’
‘Oh, well done, splendid. Still, I mean to say, you couldn’t really call it cruel, now, could you? Ever seen an old dog fox hunted out of covert on a fine sunny morning? Crafty old devil, he enjoys it right enough. I know he does.’
‘I’m perfectly certain he doesn’t,’ said Walter. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that I do, so I very soon stopped writing the articles and spent the money I got for them on a pair of topboots. But it was an awful waste really, because since then I’ve never had another opportunity to hunt.’
‘Oh, but I call that good! Now, I’ll tell you what, Monteath, as soon as this something foot and mouth has stopped I’ll
