210 A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK 



The foreheads of the familiar old horses seem to 

 have sunk a little above the eyes. The dogs are 

 remembered as playful puppies ; the headstrong 

 creatures now grow grey about the muzzles. Boys 

 employed of old as " stops," when their height was 

 less than the length of the hares they dangled proudly 

 over their backs, have now qualified for the army of 

 beaters ; they have long since learnt the wisdom of 

 not leaving their " stopping " places to forage for 

 hazel-nuts. All these have grown older, and perhaps 

 the visitor himself heaves a sigh as he looks down on 

 his own once trim and slender figure. 



To the keeper alone of the time-honoured gathering 

 seen on the lawn before the house on an early October 



morning have the years been kind. Over 

 The his face the winds have swept lightly ; 



Keeper hardly an impression has been made on his 

 Old complexion by the sun, moon, and stars, 



and the hail, snow, frosts, and mists of the 

 year. On his forehead half a century of life has 

 ploughed no furrows. His cheeks are free of wrinkles ; 

 there are no crow's-feet about the outside corners of 

 his eyes. He holds the secret of youth. His cheeks 

 might be a girl's ; there is a smoothness and supple- 

 ness about the skin of his face. Still the muscles 

 of his arms stand out with proud fulness. And his 

 eyes remain the keenest spy-glasses of the party. 

 His limbs are supple and free ; a gamekeeper hardly 



