The Chirpingtons of Larkley Hall. 29 



To see the Chirpington family at their very best, you 

 must look in upon them on a hunting morning. Exactly 

 as the big stable clock strikes half-past eight o'clock, down- 

 stairs clanks Tom Chirpington himself. Tom is rising 

 forty-five, as he says, and is just about as hale and hearty 

 a looking Briton as you would find in a day's march. 

 Altogether a man one would rather drink with, than fight 

 with, any day of the week. He's not so slim by a good 

 deal, as when a shining light of the 'Varsity Christchurch 

 drag, he was the very apple of Jem Hill's eye; but the 

 same spirit is in him still, and though he don't shove 'em 

 along in the reckless style he was wont to do in the Brad- 

 well Grove and Sturdy 's Castle days, it still takes a man all 

 his time to beat him. As a hard-riding friend remarked of 

 him, you never know how fast Tom Chirpington's going until 

 you get ''alongside of him." Needless to observe, his 

 '' get-up " is perfection, and he looks the workman all 

 over from head to heel. As Squire Tom enters the 

 bright-looking breakfast-room, with its mullioned windows 

 and oak panelling, covered with portraits of bygone Chirp- 

 ingtons, male and female, great is the welcome accorded him. 

 Comely Mrs. Chirpington, attired in the neatest of habits, 

 and looking fresh and rosy as only an English woman can 

 look, smiles at him from behind the tea and coffee at the 

 end of the table. Two little girls (the very moral of their 

 mother, as the old nurse says), aged eleven and twelve, 

 rush forward, nearly tumbling over their habit skirts (for 

 they are going to hunt, too, mind you) in their eagerness 

 for a kiss from papa. Young Tom Chirpington, aged 

 fourteen, the son and heir, a good-looking boy, home from 

 Eton, rises, blushing, from his seat, for this morning (an 

 eventful morning, to be marked with red letters in his 



