DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 19 



The sun had set, its glories reflected in scudding 

 clouds which became thickly dotted, as they passed 

 overhead, by the complicated evolutions of a flock 

 of rooks that were twirling and soaring higher 

 and higher as they scented the coming storm. To 

 windward there was a sulky blackness, out of 

 which the wind came with increasing speed, 

 bringing with it detached fragments of darkening 

 clouds that snuffed out, with seeming anger, the 

 remnants of the day. 



During the night the wind rose to a hurricane 

 and voiced itself round the angles of the inn, first 

 in soughings and then in hissing whistlings that 

 compelled thoughts of those at sea. Intermittent 

 dashes of rain, heard on the rattling window, 

 lessened the wind, and it fell again to meanings 

 round the chimneys, and then ceased and gave 

 place to the patter of falling water, from overflow- 

 ing gutters, that lulled us off to sleep. 



It rained the next morning, but in such gentle 

 fashion that we could hear the phiz, whiz, tiz of 

 frying bacon and recognise the crack of eggs on the 

 pan's edge as the morning's meal was being pre- 

 pared, which, presently, the struggling sun, that 

 would show itself occasionally, helped to brighten. 



Flies are useless as a lure immediately after a 

 time like this, so nimble fingers made a bag with 

 which I visited the kitchen garden, where I found 

 a store of likely bait. Nothing proves more clearly 

 that we are by instinct hunting animals than our 

 joy at success when we are digging for worms. 



By the time I had stretched my back the sun 

 had got its will and shone with such brilliancy as 

 made the raindrops on every twig within its reach 



