The gun was on the turf, and the little hoppers kept jumping out of the
grass on to the stock: once their king, a grasshopper, alighted on it
and rested, his green limbs tipped with red rising above his back. About
the distant wood and the hills there was a soft faint haze, which is
what Nature finishes her pictures with. Something in the atmosphere
which made it almost visible: all the trees seemed to stand in a liquid
light--the sunbeams were suspended in the air instead of passing
through. The butterflies even were very idle in the slumberous warmth;
and the great green dragon-fly rested on a leaf, his tail arched a
little downwards, just as he puts it when he wishes to stop suddenly in
his flight.
The broad glittering trigger-guard got quite hot in the sun, and the
stock was warm when I felt it every now and then. The grain of the
walnut-wood showed plainly through the light polish: it was not
varnished like the stock of the double-barrel they kept padlocked to the
rack over the high mantelpiece indoors. Still you could see the varnish.
It was of a rich dark horse-chestnut colour, and yet so bright and clear
that if held close you could see your face in it. Behind it the grain of
the wood was just perceptible; especially at the grip, where hard hands
had worn it away somewhat. The secret of that varnish is lost--like that
of the varnish on the priceless old violins.
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