CHAPTER III. 



THE WILKINSONS AND THE HURWORTH : 

 A VISIT TO NEASHAM. 



ERFECT was the autumn day, so far as the 

 weather was concerned, on September 14th, 

 when I went to Neasham Abbey, the home of 

 the Wilkinsons. It is a pretty walk from 



fV J ^P Dinsdale station, and all the way along farmers 

 I '-' were busy with their hay — some leading, some 



cutting, all " despert thrang " (as we say in the 

 North), for this was one of the few fine days we had had for 

 weeks. Passing the home of Mr. R. Cresswell-Ward, a well- 

 known owner of racehorses, and a good supporter of the 

 Hurworth Hunt (of which he is now Honorary Secretary), I was 

 confronted with a small inn boasting a not badly executed sign of 

 "The Golden Cock." I do not know the origin of the sign here, 

 but its usual significance is that the lord of the manor had 

 chanticleer as his crest, though, at the outset, this was simply a 

 short way of informing passers-by that ale could be procured 

 here, both on draught and in bottle, "cock" being still used in 

 some parts to denote the spigot or tap in the barrel. I called 

 here for direction, and because I have rather an affection for a few 

 moments country tap-room gossip. I say this boldly, for much 

 greater men than I have tarried at way-side taverns for amuse- 

 ment. There were some old wise-acres seated listening to a 

 stranger endeavouring to thump a tune out of a woefully 

 tuneless piano. He stopped almost as soon as I entered (for 

 which I was devoutly thankful, much as I love music), and 



