How Farmer 'Willum' chuckled over it--especially to think that we had
cut out the game from the very batteries of the enemy! It was the one
speck of bitterness in the old man's character--his hatred of this
keeper. Disabled himself by age and rheumatism from walking far, he
heard daily reports from his men of this fellow coming over the boundary
to shoot, or drive pheasant or partridge away. It was a sight to see
Farmer 'Willum' stretch his bulky length in his old armchair, right
before the middle of the great fire of logs on the hearth, twiddling his
huge thumbs, and every now and then indulging in a hearty laugh,
followed by a sip at the 'straight-cup.'
There was a stag's horn over the staircase: 'Willum' loved to tell how
it came there. One severe winter long since, the deer in the forest many
miles away broke cover, forced by hunger, and came into the rickyards
and even the gardens. Most of them were got back, but one or two
wandered beyond trace. Those who had guns were naturally on the
look-out; indeed, a regular hunt was got up--'Willum,' then young and
active, in it of course. This chase was not successful; but early one
morning, going to look for wild geese in the water-meadow with his
long-barrelled gun, he saw something in a lonely rickyard. Creeping
cautiously up, he rested the heavy gun on an ash stole, and the big
duck-shot tore its way into the stag's shoulder.
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