io8 



MY LIFE 



[Chap. 



My friend, whose name I forget (we will call him Mr. A.), 

 was a small-sized but active young fellow, very good-look- 

 ing, and quite the dandy in his dress. He was proud of his 

 attractions, and made friends with any of the good-looking 

 village girls who would talk to him. One day we met a 

 pretty rosy-cheeked girl about his own age — a small farmer's 

 daughter — and after a few words, seeing she was not dis- 

 inclined for a chat, he walked back with her, and I went 

 home. When he returned, he boasted openly of having got 

 her to promise to meet him again, but the landlord advised 

 him to be careful not to let her father see him. A day or 

 two after, as we were passing near the place, he saw the girl 

 again, and I walked slowly on. I soon heard loud voices, 

 and, looking back, saw the girl's father, a big, formidable- 

 looking man, threatening the young Lothario with his stick, 

 and shouting out that if he caught him there again with his 

 girl, he would break every bone in his body. When the 

 young gentleman came back he was not the least abashed, 

 but told us the whole story very much as it had happened, 

 and rather glorying in his boldness in not running away from 

 so big and enraged a man, and intimating that he had 

 assuaged his anger by civil words, and had come away with 

 flying colours. 



One day he and I went for a walk over the hills towards 

 Hitchin, where on the ordnance map a small stream was 

 named Roaring Meg, and we wanted to see why it was so 

 called. We found a very steep and narrow valley something 

 like that called the Devil's Dyke near Brighton ; but this was 

 thickly wooded on both sides, and the little stream at the 

 bottom, rushing over a pebbly bed, produced a roaring sound 

 which could be heard at a considerable distance. This 

 northern range of downs has the advantage over the south 

 downs of having numerous springs and streams on both sides 

 of it, and these are especially abundant around the ancient 

 village of Toddington, five miles west of Barton, where the 

 ordnance map shows about twenty springs, the sources of 

 small streams, within a radius of two miles. 



It was while living at Barton that I obtained my first 



