48 Hunting in the Golden Days. 



vows that his stories are true as truth, and tells them in 

 such a vivid way that he invariably makes the hair of his 

 hearers fairly stand on end ; and when the time for de- 

 parture comes, each man, after drinking just one more 

 glass of hot grog to give him courage, makes for his 

 home in as straight a line as his somewhat uncertain 

 legs will carry him, casting uneasy glances over his 

 shoulder at such uncanny things as the village pump 

 and a hand-barrow which a neighbour has thoughtlessly 

 left out in the road. Indeed, a certain farm labourer is 

 fond of telling how, returning one night from a pro- 

 longed sitting of the Green Dragon Parliament, he was 

 attacked by a man clothed in white, with whom he had a 

 struggle for his life, and who, when the man at last freed 

 himself from the deadly embrace, pursued him to the 

 door of the cottage. Another strange thing happened 

 that same night. The snow man, which the evening 

 before, to the pride and joy of the village lads, had stood 

 full six feet high, was found next morning lying on its 

 back, a mangled corpse, with the mark of a large hob- 

 nailed boot imprinted on its chaste features. But, of 

 course, this has nothing to do with the other story. 



One of the old dealer's fireside stories may, perhaps, 

 interest the reader ; but as I find that at the festive 

 season Bill Joker is not above joining in the usual hos- 

 pitality of Christmas time, the reader must make allow- 

 ance for any little drawings on his imagination. 



He related that years ago, on Christmas eve, returning 

 home about twelve o'clock from a farmhouse where he 

 had been treated like a duke, he met with an adventure 

 that would be engraved on his memory until the day of 

 his death. 



The night was clear and frosty, a slight fall of snow 

 having whitened the ground. He was thinking of all 



