Lighting the Lamps 305

overhung the pathway, it was delightful to
think that perchance over this very ground
on which we were walking the burly Master
of England may have galloped in chase of
the tall deer.

“Fle loved them as if he were their
father,” said W. V., glancing up at me with
a laugh. “My history book says that.
But it wasn’t very nice to kill them if he
loved them, was it, father?”

We turned down the new road they are
making. It runs quite into the fields for
some distance, and then goes sharp to the
right. A pleasant smell of hay was blow-
ing up the road, and when we reached the
angle we saw two old stacks and the be-
ginning of a new one; and the next field
had been mown and was dotted with hay-
cocks.

On the half-finished road a steam roller
stood, with its tarpaulin drawn over it for
the night. In the field, along the wooden
fence, some loads of dross had been shot be-
tween the haycocks; lengths of sod had
been stripped off the soil and thrown ina
heap, and planks had been laid down for the

wheelbarrows. A rake, which some hay-
20