where the deer-country begins. We were told that occasionally the stags will wander thus far, but that they will never enter the western forests, and though seen at the bridge, they never cross it. Ted’s mare was standing patiently where he had left her by the tents, and we dismounted and awaited the upshot of events. He came back in a little while with a message from “the boss” to say we were to make ourselves at home and have our breakfast—but it was nearer ten o’clock than breakfast time! In methodical fashion he proceeded to obey these injunctions; washed up plates and mugs; foraged for some cold roast mutton and bread, and set the billy to boil. He then called us and directed me where to sit; he had set out a bench with knives and forks, plates and spoons, and we felt quite civilized. He gave the cold mutton to Transome, but for me was reserved cold goose. Truly no one could have been better taken care of! Then the men came back to lunch, and showed me all their camp arrangements, and their bunks. One of them, stooping, pulled out a square packing-case from under one of them. “We couldn’t get along without that,” he said; “that’s the library.” It was full of papers, some old books and “sixpennies,” and they all bore marks of constant reading.
After I got back I sent a parcel of books and magazines as a contribution to the library; but I never heard if it reached its destination The “boss” invited us to go down into the Wills
