[All rights reserved]
NOTE.
Some of these stories have already appeared in The Cornhill Magazine, Longman’s Magazine, Temple Bar, Punch, The Times Weekly and The Illustrated London News; and are reprinted by kind permission of the Editors of these periodicals.
CONTENTS.
| PAGE | |
| Shepherd Robbins | [1] |
| Private Griggs | [27] |
| Up at the ’Lotments | [61] |
| The Only Soldier | [83] |
| A Rustic Argus | [113] |
| The Rosy Plate | [141] |
| Becky and Bithey | [175] |
| The Lover’s Wraith | [197] |
| Johnny at Shroton Fair | [214] |
| The Rout of the Conqueror | [253] |
| How Granfer Volunteered | [295] |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
| The Village | Frontispiece |
| “I be mazed; I be fair mazed” | [15] |
| There, on the Narrow Stairs, Stood the Girl Herself | [45] |
| “They’ll not so much as gi’e us a tater” | [68] |
| “I be a-hangin’ out a flag for the victory as he’ve a-helped to win!” | [112] |
| “Oh, Lizzie, I’ve such a piece of news for you!” | [137] |
| “So it’s to be him after all!” | [209] |
| “You do seem to be choppin’ a lot this evenin’, Dada” | [215] |
| “Every one in the place was turnin’ to look at me, same as if I’d been a show” | [310] |
| Finis | [316] |
SHEPHERD ROBBINS.
Farmer Joyce walked meditatively up the steep, deeply-rutted lane which led to the field wherein his sheep were penned. He was a tall, bluff, burly old man, carrying himself erect in spite of his seventy years, and capable still of performing a hard day’s work with the best of his juniors.
On one of his broad shoulders rested a pitchfork supporting a goodly truss of hay; in the other hand he carried a shepherd’s crook. A quaint, picturesque, pastoral figure was this, clad in the antiquated smock frock, now so seldom to be seen, but which Farmer Joyce wore summer and winter alike; his nether limbs were encased in corduroys and stout leather leggings, and his great nailed boots left impressions, gigantic and far apart, on the muddy soil. The cutting wind frolicked with his iron-grey beard and hair, and intensified the ruddy hue of his broad honest face. The years which had passed over that kindly face had left wonderfully few traces, except for the dust with which they had powdered the once coal-black hair and beard. There were no furrows in the brow, no pinched lines about the mouth; the eyes looked forth from under their whitened lashes with the large contemplative gaze of the man accustomed to pass his life between earth and sky, to sweep wide horizons, to take note, with one comprehensive glance, of the changes of the weather, of the coming of the seasons as indicated by sun and clouds, by bloom or decay advancing over vast tracts of country.