OLD RECOLLECTIONS 281 



odour from the wood-smoke made your eyes 

 run and caused some sneezing ; but the pleasures 

 of anticipation of the share in those good things 

 which would presently be yours, made the re- 

 view of all that was hanging there a delight- 

 ful task to a wanderer like myself, coming to 

 revisit good old kinsfolk. 



When the season of the hoodies, the dun- 

 crows' visits to the upland sheep-walks, came 

 round, the luxuries of the drying-loft were 

 neglected in favour of hoody-crow pie or 

 pudding. Just before this you would see the 

 farmer touching the locks of his flint double- 

 Manton very carefully with the tips of a feather 

 that had been dipped in the finest oil. He 

 got his crows, wary though the birds are, hung 

 them for the proper time, plucked and prepared 

 them himself. Then they were handed over 

 to " Mother " to deal with. Crow-pudding was 

 a dainty, he considered, with the thin rashers 

 of bacon inside. Yet his wife and I always 

 declined to join in that feast ; we had our pre- 

 judices. I know one thing : when he had eaten 

 the whole of a crow pudding, and washed it 

 down with a full tumbler of " Mother's" old 

 mead, he wore an air of supreme satisfac- 

 tion. 



