Three miles down turning twisting lanes to reach home, Grindum and I first, then Jack, and the rear brought up by the long and now a little drooping tail of Tinker. All have had enough; even the volatile young Pepper trots slowly, and therefore looks ever so much more business-like.
Before we start the shades are falling, and as we trudge along nature's evening vespers speak of the closing day. Workmen sitting sideways on quiet harnessed cart-horses stump past with a friendly "Good night, neighbour, good night!" Women with children in "go-carts" bustle past in a hurry to get home and fetch up the supper. Farm horses are drinking in the pond or browsing on the rank grass at the side; sparrows are chattering in the old alder bush before going to bed in the ivy on the church; pigs in the homestead are calling for their supper; the cows pass us coming home to be milked; rooks fly steadily to the old elm trees near the Manor; and a robin pipes clear and shrill on the roof of the shed in the cottage garden. There are partridges calling out "cheap wheat" in the stubble, and pewits crying on the meadows. Cock pheasants noisily flutter up to roost in the firs, and the old doctor standing at his door makes soft music with his violin.
The parson joins us and has a cheery word for all, especially the dogs, who are all his personal friends; and so we jog on and reach the village, where the wood smoke rises straight in a blue cloud from the cottage chimneys, and the fire light sends a ruddy gleam across the roads. Groups of men and boys stand about resting, little children race and play, and oh, such a delicious whiff of something stewing, with a little bit of onion in it, comes from the open door of the village ale-house! And this reminds us all that our suppers are near, and we finish the evening's walk quite briskly.
No need to say, "Kennel, dogs, kennel!" All go in of their own accord, and in five minutes are busy at their savoury-smelling hot supper. The ferrets are fed and locked up, and then, unlacing our boots at the back door and kicking them off, the day is done. Supper, rest and quiet, a pipe, a book, bed and happy dreams are all before us.
"Now, Croker, minor, you will go to the Doctor's study before school to-morrow. You have been most inattentive, and it is not the first time I have had occasion to speak to you. You can go now, but don't forget that this is tub night, as you all have done on the last four occasions. If I have further complaints on this head from the matron, I shall take you all out for a long day's rat-catching, so I advise you all to be very careful." Five minutes later this master is smoking in his room and says to another master who is doing the same, "I say, Potts, do you know I think these new lessons on rat-catching are all very well, but I think they are beyond the capacity of schoolboys. Why, they strain my mind, and I think they should only be taken up at the universities and during the last term; and then the boys do so hate them," etc.
[CHAPTER V.]
"Croker, minor, have you been up to the head-master? Yes? Then sit still and don't fidget. Boys, pick up your books on rat-catching, and we will resume yesterday's task."
The last chapter treats of a prime day's rat-catching, where rats were numerous and known to be numerous; but don't suppose all days are like this, for if you do you will be sadly disappointed, and you will have a lot to learn, for there are days, and very pleasant days too, when you will have to walk mile after mile to find a rat, and even then not be successful; but you will be out of doors in the fresh air, with devoted companions and something fresh to see at every step, if you keep your eyes open. Don't get disheartened, and above all things never say, "Oh, it is no good looking here or looking there for a rat; there is sure not to be one. Come on and don't waste time." You often find them in the most unexpected places.
I once went three times to the house of an old lady, being sent for because there was a rat that came each night and took her hen's eggs and carried off young ducks and chickens. I spent hours looking for it in hedges, ditches, sheds, out-houses and stable, and even put Tinker up on the roof of all the buildings, thinking the assassin might be under the tiles; but it was no go.