224 STAG -HUNTING ON EXMOOR 



for one purpose only, that of hunting the stag — 

 with perhaps a little fisliing thrown in. The oldest 

 inhabitant will meet you upon the bridge, and with 

 true Devonshire garrulity discourse of stag. Saunter- 

 ing alongside you the length of its single street, he 

 will point out the abode of the tailor (who makes 

 hunting garments), of the cobbler (who makes riding 

 boots). A saddler's shop is almost an appanage of 

 the inn under whose portico, on the day of my 

 arrival, a fuming sportsman and a well " done " 

 horse were eloquent of stag. In the town there 

 was suppressed excitement, and what passes in those 

 parts for bustle and stir. The traffic had a way of 

 suddenly disappearing down an alley which led to 

 the banks of the Barle, and so to Exford. Needless 

 to say, the attraction at Exford was Mr Bisset's 

 kennels, nor would any peace or comfort reign in 

 Dulverton until such time as news should arrive 

 of the find and the kill. 



That evening we sat in the stone-floored parlour 

 of the inn and drank cider out of blue pint mugs 

 — no true son of Devon drinks from a tumbler — 

 and by my side was the warped old man who 

 had weathered eighty Exmoor winters, and who 

 told of the season of bitter frost when the red 

 deer would come by the score of a morning to the 

 farmers' ricks of corn and hay and clover, and some 



