"I say!"
"Yes; what?"
"Don't you begin cramming me, because, if you do, I shall try a few
London tales on you."
Mercer laughed.
"There's an old unbeliever for you. I'm not joking you; I never do that
sort of thing. It is a bird really."
"Show it to me then."
"I can't. He's sitting somewhere on a big branch, long way up, and you
can't find them because they look so like the bark of the tree, and you
don't know where the sound comes from. They're just like the
corn-crakes."
"I've read about corn-crakes," I said.
"Well, there's plenty here. You wait till night, and I'll open our
bedroom window, and you can hear them craking away down in the meadows.
You never can tell whereabouts they are, though, and you very seldom see
them. They're light brown birds."
We were walking on now, and twice over he stopped, smiling at me, so
that I could listen to the night-jars, making their whirring noise in
the wood.
"Now, was I cramming you?" he said.
"No, and I will not doubt you again. Why, what a lot you know about
country things!"
"Not I. That's nothing. You soon pick up all that. Ever hear a
nightingale?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Then you haven't. You'll hear them to-night, if it's fine, singing
away in the copses, and answering one another for miles round."
"Why, this must be a beautiful place, then?"
"I should think it is--it's lovely. I don't mean the school; I hate
that, and the way they bore you over the lessons, and the more stupid
you are, the harder they are upon you. I'm always catching it. 'Tain't
my fault I'm so stupid."
I looked at him sharply, for he seemed to me to be crammed full of
knowledge.
"The Doctor told me one day I was a miserable young idiot, and that I
thought about nothing but birds and butterflies. Can't help it. I like
to. I say, we'll go egging as soon as we've seen the owls. Wonder
whether I can get an owl's egg for my collection. I've got two
night-jars'."
"Out of the nest?"
"They don't make any nest; I found them just as they were laid on some
chips, where they were cutting down and trimming young trees for
hop-poles. Such beauties! But come along. Yes, he said I was a young
idiot, but father don't mind my wanting to collect things. He likes
natural history, and mamma collects plants, and names them. She can
tell you the names of all the flowers you pass by, and--whisht--snake!"
"Where? Where?"
"Only gone across here," said my companion, pointing to a winding track
in the dusty road, showing where the reptile must have crossed from one
side to the other.
"Which way did he go?" I said; "let's hunt him."
"No good," said my companion quietly. "He's off down some hole long
enough ago. Never mind him; I can show you plenty of snakes in the
woods, and adders too."
"They sting, don't they?" I said.
"No."
"They do. Adders or vipers are poisonous."
"Yes, but they don't sting; they bite. They've got poisoned fangs. You
can see an adder along here sometimes. Perhaps we shall see one to-day,
warming himself in the sun."
But we did not, for a few minutes later we approached a swing gate, just
as the keeper came round a curve in the opposite direction.
"Here you are, then," he said, "just right. Farmer Dawson's gone off to
market, and so we shan't have to ask leave. Come on, and let's see if
we can find Jem Roff."
He pushed open the gate, and we went along a cart track for some
distance, and then on through one of the hop-gardens, with its tall
poles draped with the climbing rough-leaved vines, some of which had
reached over and joined hands with their fellows, to make loops and
festoons, all beautiful to my town-bred eyes, as was the glimpse I
caught of a long, low old English farmhouse and garden, with a row of
bee-hives, as we went round a great yard surrounded by buildings--
stables, barns, sheds, and cow-houses, with at one corner four tall
towers, looking like blunt steeples with the tops cut off to accommodate
as many large wooden cowls.
"What are they?" I asked.
"Oast-houses."
"What?"
"Oast-houses, where they dry the hops over a fire on horse-hair sheets,"
said Mercer. "Look! that's the pigeon-cote," he continued, pointing to
three rows of holes cut in the woodwork which connected the brick
towers. "The owl's nest's in one of those."
Just then a middle-aged man, with a very broad smile upon his face, and
a fork in his hand, came up.
"Here, Jem," said the keeper, "the young gentlemen want to see the owl's
nest."
The smile departed from the man's face, which he wiped all over with one
hand, as he frowned and shook his head.
"Nay, nay," he said. "The master's very 'tickler 'bout them howls.
Why, if I was to kill one, he'd 'most kill me."
"The young gents won't hurt 'em, Jem."
"Nay, but they'd be wanting to take eggs, or young ones, or suthin'."
"Well, I should like one egg," said Mercer.
"Ah, I thowt so! Nay, you mustn't goo."
"Oh yes, let us go," said Mercer. "There, I won't touch an egg."
"An' you won't touch the birds?"
"No."
"Nor him neither."
"Oh, I won't touch them," I said eagerly.
"You see the master says they do no end of good, killing the mice and
young rats."
"And I say they do no end of mischief, killing the young partridges and
fezzans and hares," said the keeper. "Better not let me get a sight o'
one down our woods."
The man wiped his face again with his hand, and looked at us both
attentively.
"Young master here said he'd stooff a magpie for me if you shot one, Bob
Hopley."
"So I will," said Mercer, "if Mr Hopley shoots one for you."
"That's a bargain then," said the man, rummaging in his pocket, after
sticking the fork in the ground. "Here, this way," he continued, as he
drew out a bright key. "Coming, Bob?"
"No, I don't want to see owls, 'less they're nailed on my shed door."
He seated himself on the edge of a great hay-rack, and we followed the
farmer's man through a door into the dark interior of one of the
oast-houses, where we looked up to see the light coming in through the
opening at the side of the cowl, and then followed Jem up some steps
into a broad loft, at one corner of which was a short ladder leading up
to a trap-door in the floor overhead.
"Mind your heads, young gents, ceiling's pretty low."
We had already found that out by having our caps scraped by a rough beam
under which we passed.
"Now then, go up the ladder and push the trap-door open gently, so as
not to frighten 'em. Turn the door right over, and let it down by the
staple so as it lies on the floor. 'Tain't dark; plenty o' light comes
through the pigeon-holes."
"Haven't you got any pigeons now, Jem Roff?"
"No, nor don't want none. Up wi' ye, and let me get back to my work."
Mercer needed no further invitation, and, followed closely by me, he
crossed to the corner where the ladder stood, climbed up, thrust the
trap-door over, and disappeared--head--shoulders--body--legs.
Then I climbed too, and found myself in a dirty, garret-like place, lit
by the rays falling through about a score of pigeon-holes.
For a few moments the place was dim, and I could hardly make out
anything, but very soon after my eyes grew accustomed to the half light,
and I was ready to join in Mercer's admiration as he cried,--"Isn't he a
beauty!"
For we were looking where, in one corner, sitting bolt upright, with his
eyes half closed, there was a fine young owl, just fully fledged and fit
to fly, while nothing could be more beautiful than his snow-white,
flossy breast, and the buff colour of his back, all dotted over with
grey, and beautifully-formed dots.
"Oh, shouldn't I like him to stuff!" cried Mercer. "He'll never look so
clean and beautiful again."
"But what's that?" I cried, pointing at a hideous-looking goblin-like
creature, with a great head, whose bare skin was tufted with patches of
white down. Its eyes were enormous, but nearly covered by a
nasty-looking skin, which seemed to be stretched over them. Projecting
beneath was an ugly great beak, and its nearly naked body, beneath the
toppling head and weak neck, was swollen and bloated up as if it would
crack at a touch. Altogether it was as disgusting a looking object as
it was possible to imagine.
"That's his young brother," cried Mercer, laughing.
"Young nonsense! It must be a very, very old owl that has lost all its
feathers."
"Not it. That chap's somewhere about a fortnight old; and look there,
you can see an egg in the nest, too. Shouldn't I like it!"
"Then it's the nest belonging to three pairs of owls?" I said.
"No. That's the way they do--hatch one egg at a time. They all belong
to the same pair."
I felt a little incredulous, but my attention was taken up then by a
semicircle of little animals arranged about two feet from the
nesting-place.
"Why, they're all big mice," I said.
"No; nearly all young rats," said Mercer, counting. "Twenty-two," he
cried, "and all fresh. Why, they must have been caught last night.
That's a fine mouse," he cried, taking one up by its tail.
"Why, that must be a young rat," I said. "That little one's a mouse."
"No; this is a field mouse. Look at his long tail and long ears. The
rats have got shorter, thicker tails, and look thicker altogether."
"Now then, are you young gents a-coming down?" shouted Jem.
"Yes. All right. Directly. Oh, isn't that fellow a beauty!" he
continued, throwing down the mouse he had lifted back into its place in
the owls' larder. "I say, don't the old ones keep up a good supply!"
A second summons from the man made us prepare to descend, the full-grown
owl making no effort to escape, but blinking at us, and making a soft,
hissing noise. The goblin-looking younger one, however, gaped widely,
and seemed to tumble over backwards from the weight of its head. It was
so deplorable and old-looking a creature that it seemed impossible that
it could ever grow into a soft, thickly feathered bird like the other,
and I said so.
"Oh, but it will," said Mercer; "all birds that I know of, except ducks
and chickens and geese, are horridly ugly till they are fledged. Young
thrushes and rooks are nasty-looking, big-eyed, naked things at first.
There: you go on down."
I descended through the trap-door, and he followed, the man looking at
us searchingly, as if he had not much faith in our honesty when face to
face with such temptations as owls' eggs, but his look was only
momentary, and he took it for granted that we had kept our word.
"Where are the old birds, Jem?" said my companion.
"Oh, right away somewhere in the woods, asleep. Want to see them?"
"Of course."
"Then you must come at night, and you'll see these young ones sitting at
one of the holes giving a hiss now and then for the old birds to come
and feed them, and every now and then one of them flies up."
"Yes, I know," said Mercer, "so still and softly that you can't hear the
wings. But I should like that egg."
"Then you had better ask the master, and see what he says."
"Well, my lads," cried Hopley, in his bluff, deep voice, "seen the
owls?"
"Yes; and now, I say, Bob Hopley, you'll let us go through the big
beech-wood, and round by the hammer pond?"
"What for?" said the keeper.
"It's holiday to-day, and I want to show this chap, our new boy, round."
"What! to teach him mischief like you know?"
"Get out. I don't do any mischief. You might let us go."
"Not my wood, it's master's."
"Well, he wouldn't mind."
"And I've got young fezzans in coops all about the place."
"Well, we don't want the pheasants."
"I should think not, indeed; and just you look here: I see you've got
that chap Magglin up at work in your garden again; you just tell him
from me that if ever I see him in our woods, I'll give him a peppering
with small shot."
"You carry your impudent messages yourself, or tell the Doctor," said
Mercer sharply.
"What?" cried the keeper, scowling at us.
"I say, you take your impudent messages yourself. You know you daren't
shoot at him."
"Oh, daren't I? I'll let him see."
"It's against the law, and your master's a magistrate. You know you
daren't. What would he say?"
The keeper raised his gun with both hands, breathed on the mottled
walnut-wood stock, and began to polish it with the sleeve of his
velveteen jacket. Then he looked furtively at Jem Roff, then at me, and
lastly at Mercer, before letting the gun fall in the hollow of his arm,
and taking off his cap to give his head a scratch, while a grim smile
began to play about his lips.
"You've got me there, youngster," he said slowly, and Jem began to
chuckle.
"Of course I have," said Mercer confidently. "Besides, what's that got
to do with me?"
"Why, he's a friend of yours."
"That I'm sure he's not. He's a nasty, mean beggar, who makes me pay
ever so much for everything he does for me. You ask him," continued
Mercer, giving his head a side wag at me, "if only this morning he
didn't make me give him twopence for a pen'orth of worms."
"Yes, that he did," I said, coming to my companion's help.
"Humph!" grunted the keeper. "Well, youngsters, never you mind that,
you pay him, and keep him at a distance. He's no good to nobody, and I
wonder at Doctor Browne, as teaches young gents to be gents, should keep
such a bad un about his place. He's a rank poacher, that's what he is,
and there ain't nothing worse than a poacher, is there, Jem Roff?"
"Thief," said that gentleman.
"Thief? I don't know so much about that. Thieves don't go thieving
with loaded guns to shoot keepers, do they?"
"Well, no," said Jem.
"Of course they don't, so that's what I say--there aren't nothing worse
than a poacher, and don't you young gents have anything to do with him,
or, as sure as you stand there, he'll get you into some scrape."
"Who's going to have anything to do with him?" cried Mercer pettishly.
"Why, you are, sir."
"I only buy a bird of him, sometimes, to stuff."
"Yes, birds he's shot on our grounds, I'll be bound, or else trapped
ones."
"Well, they're no good, and you never shoot anything for me. P'r'aps he
is a bad one, but if I pay him, he is civil. He wouldn't refuse to let
two fellows go through the big woods."
"Thought you was going fishing."
"Not till this evening, after tea."
"Where are you going?"
"Down by the mill."
"Wouldn't like to try after a big carp, I s'pose, or one of our old
perch?"
"Wouldn't like!" cried Mercer excitedly.
"No, I thought you wouldn't," said the keeper. "There, I must be off."
"Oh, I say, Bob Hopley, do give us leave."
"What leave?"
"To have an hour or two in the hammer pond. There's a good chap, do!"
"The master mightn't like it. Not as he ever said I wasn't to let any
one fish."
"Then let's go."
"No, my lads, I'm not going to give you leave," said the keeper, with a
twinkle in his eyes; "but there's a couple o' rods and lines all right,
under the thatch of the boat-house."
"Yes, Bob, but what about bait?"
"Oh, I don't know 'bout bait. P'r'aps there's some big worms in the
moss in that old tin pot in the corner."
"Oh, Bob!" cried Mercer excitedly, while I felt my heart beat heavily.
"Yes, now I come to think of it, there is some worms in that tin pot, as
I got to try for an eel or two."
"Then we may go?"
"Nay, nay, don't you be in a hurry. It won't do. Why, if I was to let
you two go, you might catch some fish, a big carp, or a perch, or one of
they big eels."
"Yes, of course we might."
"And if you did, you'd go right back to the school and tell young
Magglin, and he'd be setting night lines by the score all over the
pond."
"No; honour! We'll never say a word to him!" we cried.
"Then you'll tell all your schoolmates, and that big long hop-pole chap,
what's his name?"
"Burr major," said Mercer eagerly.
"And that big fat-faced boy?"
"Dicksee?"
"Yes, that's him, and I'll give him Dicksee if he chucks stones at my
Polly's hens. We shall be having 'em lay eggs with the shells broke."
"Oh, nonsense, Bob! We won't tell."
"And them two, and all the others coming and wanting leave to go fishing
too."
"No, no, I tell you," cried Mercer, but the keeper, with a malicious
twinkle in his eyes, kept on without heeding him.
"And half of 'em'll be falling in, and t'other half tumble after 'em to
pull 'em out, and the whole school getting drowned, and then, what would
the Doctor say?"
"I say, Jem Roff, just hark at him!" cried Mercer impatiently.
"Oh, if you don't want to hear me talk, I can keep my mouth shut. Good
morning."
He nodded shortly, and, shouldering his gun, marched off.
"Oh, I say, isn't he provoking? and he never gave us leave.--Bob!"
No answer.
"Bob Hopley!"
But the keeper strode on without turning his head, and Mercer stood
wrinkling up his forehead, the picture of despair.
"And there are such lots of fish in that pond," he cried, "and I did
want to show my friend here, Jem Roff."
"Well, why don't you go, then? He's only teasing you."
"Think so," cried my companion, brightening up.
"Why, didn't he tell you where the rods and lines were, and the worms?
You go on and fish. I should."
"You would, Jem?"
"Of course."
"But there won't be time before dinner now," said Mercer thoughtfully.
"I say, are you hungry?"
"Not very," I said, "and I've got some biscuits left."
"Then come on," cried Mercer. "Don't tell him weave gone, Jem, and I
will stuff that mag for you splendidly, see if I don't."
"I shan't see him, my lad. There, off you go."
"Yes: come on!" cried Mercer excitedly; "and--I say, Jem, lend us a
basket."
"What for?"
"To put the fish in?"
"You go and ketch 'em first, lad, and by and by I'll come round that way
with one under my arm, and you might give a fellow an eel, if you get
one."
"You shall have all the eels, Jem."
"Thank-ye. Then look here! you bait one line with the biggest worms you
can find, and do you know the penstock?"
"What, down in the deep corner, under the trees?"
"Yes; it's ten foot deep there. You fish right on the bottom, in that
corner, and you'll have some sport."
"Hallo!" cried Mercer, laughing. "I say, Burr, junior, hark at him.
How does he know? I say, Jem, how many eels have you caught there, eh?"
"You go and begin," said the man, with a dry laugh. "I won't forget
about the basket."
"Nor I about the eels. Come on," cried Mercer. "Here, look sharp;
let's run!"
He caught hold of my hand, raced me through the hop-garden, and out into
the lane.
"Now, down here," he said, as we reached a stile. "We can get across
this field, and then into the woods, and--quick, do as I do!"
As he spoke, he dropped down on his knees, and began hunting about at
the bottom of the hedge, while I made clumsy efforts to do the same.
"What is it?" I said eagerly.
"Pretend it's a snake. Can't you see?"
"No."
"There's Eely Burr and old Dicksee coming down the lane, and they'll
want to come too. Hist! don't look. Lie down; p'r'aps they haven't
seen us, and they'll go by."
"But it's all stinging nettles," I said.
"What of that? Here, this way; they won't sting if you go down hard."
And, throwing himself into a great bed of the venomous weeds, he lay
perfectly still, and I was obliged to follow suit, but not without
suffering two or three stings.