It thus happened that we were in the green
pathway when some one suddenly spoke from behind, and, turning, there
was a man in a velveteen jacket who had just stepped out of the bushes.
The keeper was pleasant enough and readily allowed us to handle his
gun--a very good weapon, though a little thin at the muzzle--for a man
likes to see his gun admired. He said there were finer nuts in a valley
he pointed out, and then carefully instructed us how to get back into
the waggon track without returning by the same path. An old barn was the
landmark; and, with a request from him not to break the bushes, he left
us.
Down in the wooded vale we paused. The whole thing was now clear: the
hare in the wire was a trap laid for the 'gips' whose camp was below.
The keeper had been waiting about doubtless where he could command the
various tracks up the hill, had seen us come that way, and did not wish
us to return in the same direction; because if the 'gip' saw any one at
all he would not approach his snare. Whether the hare had actually been
caught by the wire, or had been put in by the keeper, it was not easy to
tell.
We wandered on in the valley wood, going from bush to bush, little
heeding whither we went. There are no woods so silent as the nut-tree;
there is scarce a sound in them at that time except the occasional
rustle of a rabbit, and the 'thump, thump' they sometimes make
underground in their buries after a sudden fright.
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