CHAPTER XII.

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM.

IN Denzil's time the saltings and the shore, with the slub, was No-man's Land, as far as a man's legs could carry him on a long day's prowl. There were boards fixed on stout poles, here and there, which set forth in complicated legal terms the rights of certain individuals to the flotsam and jetsam of the foreshore, with all privileges thereunto belonging. But these were unheeded; no one stopped to read them. On a warm summer's day the folks would have fallen. asleep over so tough a job, and in wintry weather, with a gale from the nor❜ard, fowl coming up off the sea, and the salt spindrift making your eyes smart, you would not care to spell the matter out.

One hoarse-voiced, hardened old sea-dog I well re

member, who was ordered to replace a certain portion of cargo on the spot where he had found it. This he refused to do in the strongest nautical terms at his command, offering at the same time to fight the matter out there and then. On this he was mildly requested to look at the notice board close to him. "He was no scholard,” he replied, and had no desire to be one, with a few round oaths directed at those who were. However, he was compelled reluctantly to give up the treasure-trove—in this case a couple of two-gallon casks full of spirits, which had been half buried in the sand.

The excise officers had work to do in those days. Sometimes a swift-sailing boat, whose only fault was that she carried a valuable cargo, would be sawn asunder in the middle and sold to make fishermen's huts of.

Police proper there were none, only a constable. He was a mason, and a mild-spoken individual. There was little he could do, but it was considered essential to the dignity of the locality that it should possess a constable! Sometimes a serious dispute would take place over a small portion of flotsam, and the matter would be fought out on the shore-the

conqueror carrying off the spoil, and the vanquished receiving a "quilting." Then was the time for the Marshton constable to show his authority. On getting home from his work the matter would be reported to him, the effect of which would be that he would sit lost in thought for about half an hour.

Then he would have his tea, after telling his wife to send the children out to play. Tea over, he attired himself carefully in his church-going suit, composed of fawn-coloured trousers, low shoes, blue swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons, a stiff satin stock, and a waistcoat of most dazzling splendour in the eyes of the juveniles. It was made of strong thick brocade, that had been presented to him by some fishing (?) friend, and was bright grass-green in colour. The village tailor had done his very best at that garment; and on it were brilliant buttons, also the present of another fishing (?) friend. With a chimney-pot hat of antique style, he put the finishingtouch to his attire. How the boys used to admire the whole get-up!

Opening his house door he would request his wife to fetch him his staff and silk handkerchief, and he used to stand there in all his glory whilst she got

these articles.

That staff came from some old

curiosity - shop. Originally, I am convinced, it had been a small idol in a heathen land. This he wrapped up in the silk handkerchief and placed in one of his long tail pockets. Then he started out, the wonder and admiration of all. As he passed down the long village street in his official dignity, it would be whispered that he was "goin' to take 'em away somewhere an' lock 'em up!" That idol banging against his legs as he walked had a solemnising effect on the youngsters. It was taken out at the house of the transgressor, and a smart rap was administered on the door with it. "In the name of the law," they who followed would hear him say; then he entered, and the door would be closed, leaving the awestruck youngsters standing without. They could only dimly surmise the dread proceedings within. Presently the recipient of the beating would arrive, and enter also. After that no more was known to outsiders until some of the neighbours down the village street would be roused at midnight by thundering knocks at their house doors. They were caused by that idol in the constable's pocket, as he swayed to and fro, hugging the shore, or rather

the door frames, closely, on his homeward way, his tall hat on the back of his head, whilst in a very reedy quavering voice he sang to the best of his ability that touching air, "The Flowers of the Forest."

There was something very conciliating in those dumpy, dark-green bottles. If disputes could be settled nowadays in the same manner, what lots of precious time and money might be saved!

A kind-hearted neighbourly man was the constable; he was never in a hurry to bring out his idol. Once, when he was called out, he asked, "Are they fightin'?"

"Yes," was the reply, "as hard as they kin go it."

Ah, well, one or the other on 'em will soon hev their whack; you run back an' tell how I'm comin' as soon as ever I git my staff." He took care to wait till the two had cleared off, for he was philosophical as well as kind-hearted.

Some distance from Philip Magnier's homestead, on the edge of the marshes, close to the highroad, there used to be a small but very substantially built farmhouse, on rising ground, surrounded by barns and other outbuildings. Sheltered from the winds,