CHAPTER XXII.

ON THE NOR'ARD HILLS.

"THERE is still shooting to be had," said Larry, before the cousins parted for the night. "We will have one day at it, before you go back to your new home; some friends of mine will give us a good bit of rough shooting if I ask them. Let us have a walk to-morrow over the Nor'ard hills; we shall find their answer here when we return."

The name Nor'ard hills was probably an abbreviation of North Wood hills, which had been given by the flat dwellers to the higher ground beyond Marshton, from which the most extensive view for many miles round could be obtained. The only way of reaching these hills, or rather uplands, was through narrow lanes and by rough tracks, such as are termed drift-roads in some parts of the country. Perhaps

nowhere else are such hedges to be seen as those which fenced in the lanes on either side. They were formed of huge blackthorns, whitethorn, crab and wild-plum trees, bullaces. Impenetrable they were both to man and beast—that is anything in the way of farm stock. Here and there you would distinguish the heavily thatched roof of some lonely farmstead showing through the ash-trees by which it was surrounded, and beyond them the track that led for a long distance to the uplands looking over the marshes. Past great open fields it went, commanding a view seawards. From them the flash and report could be seen and heard from the majestic three-decker of a hundred and twenty guns, that lay ten miles away; it was the guard-ship lying off the dockyard.

When the snow drifted over those wide stretches of fields, which were only divided in places by belts of marshland that could not at that time be brought under cultivation, it would have been madness to attempt to cross them; the wind blew in a perfect hurricane at times direct from the sea, tearing the snow up in vast winding - sheets, wherewith it smothered all they drifted on. Denzil had seen

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those hedges on the field-side with only the topmost twigs of the boughs showing; and with these natural bulwarks to protect the narrow track, the snow still lay there waist-deep in severe winters. Some of the lonely cottages would then be covered up to their chimneys. Then was the time to prove of what stuff the marshland dwellers were made. They gathered in relief parties from all quarters and dug out the buried homes. Each farmer possessed a snowplough, and the merry jingle of the bells that were carried about the necks of the powerful horses bore in advance glad tidings of help to those cottagers who were prisoners beneath the snow-drifts. These were the great fields over which the tons of fresh fish were spread, to which the gulls came. In harvesttime they showed one long stretch of golden corn; but in winter their appearance was dreary, only enlivened by the plovers, gulls, hooded crows, and magpies that flocked to them. Twice during the year the gulls came there · when the fish were placed in heaps, and then again when the fields were ploughed. To a lover of bird-life it was a pretty sight to see those gulls following the ploughs, picking up the worms and insects that the ploughshares

turned up. Their pure white and grey plumage was brought out in fine relief against the warmly toned rich brown furrows. They knew no shyness, but flapped round and about the men and their teams most unconcernedly, never being molested in any way. To shoot a gull in ploughing-time would have been considered a most wanton and heartless piece of cruelty,—an ill return for the inestimable benefit the birds conferred in cleaning the soil from the dreaded wire - worm and other things that never escaped those sharp eyes. Woe betide the mice that were turned up, ousted from their homes by the unsparing plough. For a moment or two their long tails could be seen flicking up and down as their owners make tracks; but only for that brief space, the next view of them would be the tips merely showing outside the gulls' beaks. Plump mice are a dainty to them.

In those days the farm-labourer, or farmer's man, was a very different being to the type mostly known at the present time. Master and man understood one another; it was very seldom that a man changed his master, or a master his man.1 They could do things

1 As I write this an old servant of my own father's-Mr Thomas

in those days that a farm-servant cannot do now; for they were rustic mechanics, able and willing to turn their hands to anything connected with a farm and its surroundings. More than this, they knew all about the creatures that were round about them, and if they said such a bird did good on the land, or the reverse, you might depend on it that it was so; for they saw and noted the ways of the birds all the year round.

One bitter winter Denzil had seen there a falcon flight,—it was a wild falcon,—a sight which he did

Pinder-comes before my mind's eye. As far as I remember, he had never served any but my father up to the date of his death. The man was often a great trial, as he was negligent at times, though otherwise very faithful. On several occasions this had caused dismissal to be given him; but in consideration of his personal devotion this had been as often withdrawn, and John felt very secure of his place. One day, however, he had so aggravated my father that he told him he must leave, and this time there would be no repeal, so he must look out for other employment at once.

John felt from the master's manner that this was final, and he turned away in a half-stunned fashion. After going a few steps, however, he suddenly turned round, and facing my father, said in a determined tone of voice, “If thee doesna know when thee's gotten a good servant, I know when I's gotten a good measter, an' I shanna go!" The master was overcome; he laughed, and John went back to his work. He sorrowed much when the master was called up higher, and he had to serve another.