The Park' in 



varnish-coloured sheaths of the buds that were to 

 appear the following spring. These stuck to the 

 finger if touched, as if they really had been varnished. 

 Through the long months of winter they would re- 

 main, till under April showers and sunshine the sheath 

 fell back and the green leaflets pushed up, the two 

 forming together a rude cross for a short time. 



The day was perfectly still, and the colours of the 

 leaves still left glowed in the sunbeams. Beneath, the 

 dank bronzed fern that must soon shrivel was wet, 

 and hung with spiders 1 webs that like a slender netting 

 upheld the dew. The keeper swore a good deal about 

 a certain gentleman farmer whose lands adjoined 

 the estate, but who held under a different proprietor. 

 Between these two there was a constant bickering 

 the tenant angry about the damage done to his crops 

 by the hares and rabbits, and the keeper bitterly 

 resenting the tenant's watch on his movements, and 

 warnings to his employer that all was not quite as it 

 should be. 



The tenant had the right to shoot, and he was 

 always about in the turnips a terrible thorn in the 

 side of Dickon's friend. The tenant roundly declared 

 the keeper a rascal, and told his master so in written 

 communications. The keeper declared the tenant set 

 gins by the wood, in which the pheasants stepped and 



