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They left the waggonette behind, and the men who were not driving went
afoot. Over each shoulder sloped a gun. It was the oddest little
expedition for an English country road, more like a Yankee party,
trekking west in the good old Indian days.
They went up the road, until at the crest by the stile they came into
sight of the Experimental Farm. They found a little group of men there
with a gun or so--the two Fulchers were among them--and one man, a
stranger from Maidstone, stood out before the others and watched the
place through an opera-glass.
These men turned about and stared at Redwood's party.
"Anything fresh?" said Cossar.
"The waspses keeps a comin' and a goin'," said old Fulcher. "Can't see
as they bring anything."
"
The canary creeper's got in among the pine trees now," said the man
with the lorgnette. "It wasn't there this morning. You can see it grow
while you watch it."
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his object-glasses with careful
deliberation.
"I reckon you're going down there," ventured Skelmersdale.
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