AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 11 



and no wonder, as there was little else of me to 

 be in trouble. 



Strange it is, but my very worst pain would 

 vanish when I was seated on my Exmoor pony 

 by my father's side for a day with the deer ; and 

 I was proud when Parson Jack the Reverend 

 John Russell said, " That's a nice thing the boy 

 is riding, George.' 1 Indeed, I was so proud that 

 I did a silly thing. I touched the pony with the 

 spur, and the pony told the parson, and his rever- 

 ence rebuked me with : " Be jealous of and kind 

 to your steed, my boy, at all times, and especially 

 when going a-hunting, for you may need, before 

 night, every step that he has in him." With this 

 he stroked his horse's neck with loving touch, and, 

 unseen by him or my father, I stroked my pony's ; 

 and I think from that time I loved all animals more 

 than I had done before. 



I often wondered what were the magic words 

 of my mother's whispering, but I had to grow to 

 manhood before I could solve the riddle. After 

 much time my semi-wild life, my mother's cakes 

 and clotted cream, with now and then a junket, 

 filled me out a bit, and I was no longer a walking- 

 stick with a big copper knob. Up to now I had 

 hated boys, both big and small, as I knew they 

 noticed sometimes in a loud voice the colour of 

 my hair. As I grew in strength these audible 

 notices grew less and less frequent, and I had to 

 partially lift my cap and scratch my head, as if I 



