Just previous to the time we are writing of, Mat had made the acquaintance of a young stranger, who was shooting in the forest, and this is how it came about.
Early one morning in the month of October, Mat was looking for a colt which he had partly broken in, when his attention was arrested by a shot immediately outside the enclosure he was searching. Ever alive to the chance of sport, he ran through the intervening trees, and discovered a young man dressed in a new and rather gaudy sporting costume, who was engaged in searching a small bog with a setter.
Seeing Mat, the stranger accosted him somewhat imperiously with,—
“Come here, youngster, and find this snipe I’ve shot, look sharp.”
“Not till I’ve found a colt I’ve lost,” responded Mat, who did not appreciate this off-hand command.
“Do you know who I am?” demanded the stranger, standing up.
“No, and don’t care; however, if you’ll speak civil, I’ll give you a hand.”
And not waiting for further remarks, Mat vaulted over the rails of the enclosure, and very soon pointed out the wing of the snipe protruding from a puddle, into which the bird had been trodden by the foot of the gunner.
“Now,” said the latter, pleased with this quick find, “will you beat for me homewards to Lyndhurst?”
“I don’t mind,” answered the gipsy, “if you will come into this enclosure first, and help me to find my colt.”