"Here is a sketch of the Decoy Pond, for instance, with the oldest tree in the chase beside it; would not that interest him, think you?
You think not ?" "Well, young gentleman," said the keeper, frankly, "if I say no, it ain't that I mean any slight to your drawing.

It's like the tree enough, for certain, with the very hoop of iron as I put round it with my own hands twenty years ago--and, by the same token, it will want another before this winter's out; but I don't think the Squire cares much for such matters.

He might, maybe, just give a look at it, or he might bid you go to the devil for a paper-staining son of a--well--what you will.
He does not care a farthing, bless 'ee, for all the great pictures in his own gallery, though they cost his grandfather a mint of money, and are certainly a fine sight--so far as the frames go.

And, on the other hand, if he happens to be cross-grained that day, he might tear it up before you could say 'Hold,' and kick you down the Hall steps into the bargain, as he has done to many a one.

That's where it is, you see, the Squire is so chancy." "I don't think he would kick _me_ down his Hall steps," said Yorke, grimly.
The keeper grinned.