A TENANT FARMER 



of John Weston's type — men with families, who meant 

 to worry somehow through the lean and hard years 

 of agriculture. Yet at home the hospitality seemed 

 but little relaxed. In summer the house was seldom 

 without friends and relatives enjoying the delights of 

 the country ; and when the foxhounds met, as they had 

 done for five-and-thirty years, in the home-field, close 

 adjoining the house, there was still the ever-hospitable 

 table, the same kindly welcome for all-comers. 



Few men ever spent less upon themselves. Dearly 

 though he loved racing, he ventured upon but one bet 

 throughout his married life. That was five shillings on 

 Lilian, when she beat Lemnos in the Queen's Plate 

 at Warwick in the early seventies. *' A strange, good 

 mare, Lilian," as the old gentleman used to say. 

 Coursing — the old-fashioned style of coursing — was 

 a pastime that had descended to him from his father. 

 He usually kept a greyhound, and with a neighbour 

 and his dog would sally forth into the fields to pick up 

 a hare. The chase that ordinarily ensued was a brisk 

 one, and, as the pair of greyhounds fiercely ran their 

 quarry, the two mounted men would follow with the 

 keenest alacrity. More often the field-gates sufficed 

 them, but, in moments of excitement, John Weston 

 would put his nag at a fence with as much ardour as if 

 following the fox itself. His knowlege of the country- 

 side was perfect. Every field, every gate and bridle- 

 path for many a mile round was well known to him. 

 The fox coverts of four shires were mapped out in 

 his brain with wonderful clearness. He had seen 

 many changes in his early days : waste land and heaths 

 enclosed, new coverts planted ; and he remembered 

 most of the country byroads when travelling was made 

 infinitely tedious by unending lines of gates. He had 

 failings, of course. He was desperately tenacious 



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