He is not a
poacher in the sense of entering coverts, or even snaring a rabbit. If
the pheasants are so numerous and so tame that passing carters have to
whip them out of the way of the horses, it is hardly wonderful if one
should disappear now and then. Nor is he like the Running Jack that used
to accompany the more famous packs of fox-hounds, opening gates, holding
horses, and a hundred other little services, and who kept up with the
hunt by sheer fleetness of foot.
Yet he is fleet of foot in his way, though never seen to run; he _pads_
along on naked feet like an animal, never straightening the leg, but
always keeping the knee a little bent. With a basket of watercress slung
at his back by a piece of tar-cord, he travels rapidly in this way; his
feet go 'pad, pad' on the thick white dust, and he easily overtakes a
good walker and keeps up the pace for miles without exertion. The
watercress is a great staple, because it lasts for so many months.
Seeing the nimble way in which he gathers it, thrusting aside the
brook-lime, breaking off the coarser sprays, snipping away pieces of
root, sorting and washing, and thinking of the amount of work to be got
through before a shilling is earned, one would imagine that the slow,
idling life of the labourer, with his regular wages, would be far more
enticing.
Near the stream the ground is perhaps peaty: little black pools appear
between tufts of grass, some of them streaked with a reddish or
yellowish slime that glistens on the surface of the dark water; and as
you step there is a hissing sound as the spongy earth yields, and a tiny
spout is forced forth several yards distant.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128