CHAPTER XX.

AT HOME IN SURREY.

DEATH brings many changes. One effect of the havoc it had wrought in Marshton was the breaking up of the Magniers' home on the marshes, and it was deemed advisable for him and his brothers to seek a home elsewhere. It was thought, too, that a change to a drier and more hilly county would benefit him and other members of his family, who had suffered from repeated attacks of fever and ague.

All Den heard about the beauties of the wooded hillsides of Surrey and its wind-swept commons, of all its wealth of flowers and its wild life in the shape of fur, fin, and feather, took hold of his imagination, and made the idea of parting with his longshore

associations easier than it might otherwise have been.

The evening before he left, he went with Scoot and Winder to say good-bye to all. The neighbours of his two faithful friends in the long village street forgot all the grudges they had borne for repeated door "larrupings." Old Nance, as she placed her withered hand on his shoulder, said, “God bless you, boy! and I hope He may see fit to give you an' yours a better time than ye've had here."

"An' now ye must pay old Snoove a visit," said Scoot,-" and," he added, in a most mournful tone, "what with the colery set out, an' your goin' away, Den, there wunt be many more larks nor foolishness here for a good bit."

"Good luck to ye all in yer new home, boy!" said the sturdy blacksmith, as he shook him heartily by the hand; never come back to live on the flats agin if ye can help it."

Before it was fully daylight the next morning, his two friends met him at the cross-roads to start him on the one that would take him "so far away," as they deemed it. "We've been like brothers, Denzil,” said Scoot; "ye'll cum back to us some day, if ye live.

Ye belongs to us;" and with a hard grip of the hand they parted.

And what a wonderful difference two, even one hundred miles may make! To Denzil it was like going to a foreign land; compared with the swampy flats it seemed indeed a paradise; all was new and strange, yet beautiful. After the dreary bareness of the marshlands, it was luxuriant and fair past belief. Vegetation, animals, birds, and insects, all had a special interest for the youth who was now approaching manhood, and whom a passionate love of nature was likely to touch to finer issues in a county more favourable for the development of his capabilities.

That county is indeed one of the fairest in England. The woods, hills, fields, and hedgerows, its heaths and commons, rivers and brooks, became, to the fullest. extent that daily business would allow, his huntinggrounds. He was soon as familiar with them as he had been with the pestilential swamps and the wild shore of his native place. Letter-writing was not at that time-about forty years ago-so universally practised as it is now; and Den's fishing friends were well satisfied with one letter during the course of each year, just to let them know that the "boy,"

as they always called him, was well, and doing well.

In leaving the home on the marsh and his kinsfolk, Denzil at first missed the old social life amidst the congenial and familiar surroundings of his boyhood. In the town where he and some of his family settled, they had none of the prestige that came from ties of relationship with one of the oldest and most respected families in the neighbourhood. The quaint old house of the Portreeve and all its treasures of art, and home traditions of their heroic ancestors who had given up house and lands across the sea for conscience' sake, became a thing of the past, not without some pangs of regret. But health of body, and the newness of Denzil's surroundings, with fresh materials for the enjoyment he had in the pursuit of his ruling passion, compensated in a very large measure for what had to be left behind.

Whatever time could be spared from the trade by which his living had to be earned, he spent in wandering over all the hills and valleys that lay within reach. For some time he neglected the use of his pencils; but a new impetus in the direction of art was given him one day when, during one of his country rambles,

he came across a boy who had, with his hands, just groped out a tench about half a pound in weight from a brook choked up with weeds. It was a beautiful creature, he thought; all the sea-fish he had ever seen or helped to eat were as nothing compared with that golden-green fish before him.

Would the boy sell it? he asked.

That he was ready enough to do. No haggling was there over the bargain; the price Denzil offered made the boy open his sleepy eyes in astonishment. "I'll bring ye a perch fur nuthin' to-morrow," he said, "ef ye'll tell me where ye are bidin'.

Then the water-colours were brought out once more, and with most loving care the two fish were painted.

Another man he fraternised with in his wanderings told him about pike; and, better still, took him to a large mill-pond, where he could see the great fierce fish basking in the sun close to the water's edge. To one who had fished from the shore from groins, breakwaters, and sluice-gates, this seemed a paradise for angling purposes, and after that the fishing-rod was a frequent companion with him. At any time, if Denzil heard of anything in the shape of fin, fur, or feather, he wasted few words, but as soon as might be

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