The bottom part of the door has
decayed, and the long nose of a greyhound is thrust out sniffing through
a hole. Dickon, the said son, is delighted to undo the padlock for a
visitor who is 'square.' In an instant the long hounds leap up, half a
dozen at a time, and I stagger backwards, forced by the sheer vigour of
their caresses against the doorpost. Dickon cannot quell the uproarious
pack: he kicks the door open, and away they scamper round and round the
paddock at headlong speed.
What a joy it is to them to stretch their limbs! I forget the squalor of
the kennel in watching their happy gambols. I cannot drink more than one
tumbler of brown brandy and water; but Dickon overlooks that weakness,
feeling that I admire his greyhounds. It is arranged that I am to see
them work in the autumn.
The months pass, and in his trap with the famous trotter in the shafts
we roll up the village street. Apple-bloom and golden fruit too are
gone, and the houses show more now among the bare trees; but as the rim
of the ruddy November sun comes forth from the edge of a cloud there
appears a buff tint everywhere in the background. When elm and ash are
bare the oaks retain their leaves, and these are illumined by the autumn
beams. Over-topped by tall elms and hidden by the orchards, the oaks
were hardly seen in summer; now they are found to be numerous and give
the prevailing hue to the place.
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