MY BROTHER KEEPERS 201 
a peculiarly vivid recollection, since he has afforded 
me many a good laugh—sometimes when my coun- 
tenance should have remained placid under any 
circumstances. This old keeper, many of whose 
remarks and ways appeared to be privileged, was 
accustomed to the honour of shaking hands with 
a noble earl whenever he turned up at a shooting- 
party. On one memorable morning the earl was 
expected, and the keeper stood ready. Up dashed 
his lordship’s carriage, out jumped the earl with 
extended hand and a genial ‘Good-morning.’ The 
keeper grasped the hand, and reciprocated the 
earl’s salutation with, ‘Good-mornin’, mister.’ 
Then, perceiving the enormity of his crime, he 
added, in tones of vehement regret, ‘There, what 
be I a-sayin’ of? Dashed if I knows—in coorse 
I means “my gawd”! 
Another old keeper—who, by the way, possessed 
a terrific voice—had gradually acquired the habit, 
not only of making what were intended to be pithy 
remarks to no one in particular, but of soliloquizing 
at sundry times and in divers places. He had 
practically no respect for places, and, apparently, 
not overmuch for persons. Covert-shooting days 
were especially productive of his diction. He 
would place the guns with: ‘My lord, you ’alt at 
the next stick, wull ’e, plee-az? Colonel So-and-so, 
you can go as far as yer can—and then stop-like. 
Mister So-and-so, you bide pretty much where you 
