io8 The Amateitr Poacher. 



Dickon was in love with one of the maids, a remark- 

 ably handsome girl. 



She showed me the famous mantelpiece, a vast 

 carved work, under which you could stand upright. 

 The legend was that once a year on a certain night a 

 sable horse and cloaked horseman rode across that great 

 apartment, flames snorting from the horse's nostrils, 

 and into the fireplace, disappearing with a clap of 

 thunder. She brought me, too, an owl from the 

 coachhouses, holding the bird by the legs firmly, her 

 hand defended by her apron from the claws. 



The butler was a little merry fellow, extremely 

 fond of a gun and expert in using it. He seemed to 

 have nothing to do but tell tales and sing, except at 

 the rare intervals when some of the family returned 

 unexpectedly. The keeper was always up there in 

 the kitchen ; he was as pleasant and jovial as a man 

 could well be, though full of oaths on occasion. He 

 was a man of one tale of a somewhat enigmatical 

 character. He would ask a stranger if they had ever 

 heard of such-and-such a village where water set fire 

 to a barn, ducks were drowned, and pigs cut their own 

 throats, all in a single day. 



It seemed that some lime had been stored in the 

 barn, when the brook rose and flooded the place ; this 

 slaked the lime and fired the straw, and so the barn. 



