With many gamekeepers we have known many gamekeepers' wives.
Strong-minded, capable women as they are, most keepers are wise enough
to regard them as Ministers of Finance, religiously handing over
all their gain in coins. A shilling a week, perhaps, is handed back
again by way of pocket-money, besides an allowance of 'baccy, out of
housekeeping funds. We have known more than one keeper who never would
have had a shilling had it not been for his wife; and we have known
more than one keeper's wife who would never fail to keep her hand on
every shilling that her good-man brought home.
* * * * *
"What Her was Like"
One old friend, old Henry, made up his mind to revolt against his
wife's cupidity. Coming home one winter night after a shoot, at which
he had been so lucky as to pocket a couple of pounds, the temptation
to conceal them from his good dame was irresistible. He buried the
coins beside an old ash-stump in one of his woods--well beyond scenting
distance from his cottage. He knew from many a past experience that if
he left a farthing in his pockets overnight it would be gone before
morning. That night no sleep came to him. His conscience was troubled.
He turned and tossed; as his good-wife put it, "He carried on like, so
as he couldn't sleep hisself, nor wouldn't let I." At last the good
woman, who had drawn his pockets in vain, put a straight question:
"'Enry," said she, "what _be_ up with 'ee?" Then 'Enry confessed:
he told how he had buried two pounds beside the ash-stump. And then
the two of them rose, in the middle of that winter night, and walked
out into the wood until they stumbled on the ash-stump, and they dug
until they found the money. As poor Henry used to say, in days when no
good-wife remained to take his gains, "That'll tell ye a little what
her was like."