ON MARSH AND DYKE 305 



Shoeburyness Station by an early train, with the intention 

 of spending a few days amongst the feathers and fur of the 

 island. 



Placing our guns, kit-bags, and a hamper of provisions, 

 in a butcher's cart (the only conveyance obtainable in the 



one-hoss village of W ), the ancient nag was sent along 



at his best pace, and we reached our destination, after a 

 drive of something under seven miles, in the record time 

 of one hour and five minutes. 



It would have been useless writing Thomas, the bailiff, 

 advising him of our visit, for there was no postal communi- 

 cation between the mainland and the island ; even had 

 there been, neither he, his wife, nor either of his 

 interesting offspring could read or write a word of their 

 native language. 



I remembered the old bailiff as being a red-headed, 

 red-whiskered, red-tempered little man, standing some 

 five feet nothing in his hob -nail boots ; and I also remem- 

 bered he had dwelt on N Island so many years, left 



by his master (one of the easiest-going of easy-going West- 

 countrymen) to do almost as he pleased, that he had 

 learned to look upon the place as his own little domain. 

 I was, therefore, somewhat anxious as to what sort of a 

 reception he would accord to B and myself. Regard- 

 ing that point, I was not long left in doubt, however, for, 

 as we jolted along the rough road leading from the head- 

 land to the homestead, I espied the bailiff and all the 

 members of his family standing at the door awaiting our 



advent, 

 u 



