Page:Pen And Pencil Sketches - Volume I.djvu/33

behind. I enjoyed this long drive; the weather was brilliant and the "autumn sky was blue above.” We sang blithely on the way, I the “childish treble,” my father the deep bass, to the accompaniment of the pony’s measured trot. At some half-way inn we stayed awhile for rest and refreshment for man, boy, and beast, getting to the end of our journey before nightfall. I can see my father and his friend now, trudging through the long stubble {no reaping-machines then), clad in corduroy knee- breeches, gaiters, and heavy boots, their powder- horns and shot-pouches slung over their shoulders, accompanied by two dogs, a pointer and a setter, just like the sportsmen we see in Bewick’s tail- pieces. And they were sportsmen too, as they trudged along the heavy ground and through the stubble for miles, and would think themselves well rewarded at the end of their day with a few brace of birds. They certainly worked harder for the game than the sportsmen of these days of beaters and drivers. Meanwhile, I followed them on the pony with a young farm -labourer as guardian and henchman. On days when the shooting was over early, we sat under a hedge, my father with his gun ready to let fly at the wood-pigeons which would congregate on the roofs of the farm-buildings, while I read aloud from the “Arabian Nights,” which my father had caused to be packed with our