AN AUTUMN FISHING 183 



caps and rusty powder-horns. They, like 

 their weapons, are old and out of date. 

 They live with Nature under open skies ; 

 they still see visions and at times are 

 "fey," so meet, despite their poverty, 

 some joy upon the road. 



We found many friends around the 

 open hearth, not least among them being 

 the tired dogs, who lay with sleepy heads 

 on spattered, steaming paws, before the 

 glow ; too weary to be roused, they gave 

 us salutation by kindly flaps of tails upon 

 the hearthstone. Only Corantine, the 

 ancient spaniel, came slowly over — grum- 

 bling at her rheumatism — to place a wet 

 and friendly nose within my palm. She 

 cast a conscious glance towards the heaped 

 corner where a sleek hare, some brace of 

 birds, and two fat woodcocks lay. Then 

 she crept back to sigh and sleep amongst 

 the wood -ash, to dream of hunting, and 

 while she dreamed she softly whimpered 

 in pursuit. 



We heard such talk that night, stories 

 of moonht expeditions, of trapping wild- 

 boars and how were foxes slain ! 1 learned 

 the weather wisdom of all wild-fowl. 



