222 Sporting Sketches 



for days when times are bad. All this eating and 

 fat content is lazy business and sleep lasts long. 



Up in the pleasant room, too, Sleep herself sits 

 by a narrow cot upon which lies a silent figure. The 

 kindly goddess knows that under her spell men do 

 no wrong, and so, with light hand laid across his 

 eyes, she sits and watches. Through open windows 

 streams a scented air, fruity from near-by orchards 

 and spiced with the breath of drying foliage. 



Thump ! A big apple parts its failing stem and 

 strikes a hollow roof. The figure stirs and Sleep 

 flies on soundless feet. Gradually the man gets 

 himself dressed, and then he looks the workman. 

 The loose cord breeches closely match the broad- 

 soled, flat-heeled knee-boots ; the sweater has the 

 shade of the dried grass, and the old canvas coat 

 admirably matches it. 'Tis a marvel, that coat a 

 thing of beauty and a joy forever to its owner 

 a horror unspeakable to his female kin. One had 

 described it as " A snarl of pockets held together 

 by some remnants of filthy canvas," and the owner 

 had merely smiled. To him every stain upon it was 

 a precious thing, a sign-board pointing to a dear- 

 prized memory, and he wouldn't trade it for the 

 mantle of Elijah. Once, a fair young thing, a fre- 

 quent guest, who was clever at giving the last touch 

 to ties and an invaluable adviser in regard to mani- 

 cure sets, had declared she'd "wash that horrid 

 jacket!" and thus a dimmering possibility of a 

 a oh! bother it didn't come off, anyhow! 



But the little woman who met him this morning 

 was not of that sort. Once, long before, he had ex- 

 plained to her the difference between shooting for 



