Ah, there were Dodge and Perley, the two park-keepers, one of whom
lived in the White Lodge, now only a hundred yards away. Another man
who was standing by them, near the park wall, looked to the Squire
like Gregson, his ejected farmer. And who was that black-coated
fellow coming through the small wicket-gate beside the big one? What
the devil was he doing in the park? There was a permanent grievance
in the Squire's mind against the various rights-of-way through his
estate. Why shouldn't he be at liberty to shut out that man if he
wanted to? Of course by the mere locking and barricading of the
gates, as they would be locked and barricaded on the morrow, he was
flouting the law. But that was a trifle. The _gates_ were his own
anyway.
The black-coated man, however, instead of proceeding along the road,
had now approached the group of men standing under the wall, and
was talking with them. They themselves did not seem to be doing
anything, although a large coil of barbed wire and a number of
hurdles lay near them.
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