And that shout was repeated loudly, enthusiastically by all those true English boys, as they stood on that hill-top; and never were those words, thus spoken in season, forgotten, nor did the sound of that hearty shout ever die away altogether on the ears of those who repeated and heard it. Had there been thousands and thousands of other English boys within hearing, they, too, would have repeated it with equal good-will. Oh, may English boys never forget those lines of our immortal poet:—
“Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue
If England to itself do rest but true.”
King John.
“After all, I am sure there is no place like the country, and no country like England,” cried Digby, waving his pole. “But away we go once more, boys, with just another jolly shout for the land we all love—Hurra! hurra! hurra!”
All repeated the words, and down the hill dashed Digby, followed closely by his companions, and in another moment he was forcing his way up a steep bank, and through a hedge which few would have thought of attempting. He got through it, though, and the rest followed more easily. Probably the farmer who owned the field would rather they had taken a longer way round; but certainly it did not occur to any of them that they were doing any harm; hedges are so evidently made to be got through, somehow or other, by boys, if not by cows. On they went, along the edge of the field—for wheat was coming up in it, and Digby knew that they might do harm by trampling over that. There was, of course, a gate by which they might have got out of the field, but Digby scorned gates, and it was not in the direction he was taking. There was another bank, though, with a still thicker hedge on the top of it than that they had previously passed through. Up the bank dashed Digby; but, even with the aid of his pole, he could scarcely find footing; to get over the hedge seemed impossible. Strenuous were the efforts he made, though, and numerous the times he and his followers had to jump down the bank again. Foiled he was determined not to be. Casting his eyes on either side, they fell on a young beech tree, one of whose glossy branches hung, he fancied, within reach of the top of the bank. Along the bottom of the bank he ran; he climbed up it once more, but though he sprung as high as he could, he could not reach the branch; in an instant his pole was planted firmly against the branch; up it he swarmed, and sat perched in the tree. The pole was now hauled up, and the end placed on the opposite side of the hedge; down it he went, and found himself on the side of a wide piece of moorland, yellow with the bloom of the fern, or furze. The shouts of his followers showed him how much they appreciated the feat. A broad trench was still to be crossed, full of water.
“Not very deep, though,” he thought to himself. “Never mind; here goes.”
Down the bank he slid, and, feeling with his pole, attempted to cross; but the water would, he found, even then, be up to his mouth, and perhaps deeper still further on. The weather was not yet warm enough to make a swim pleasant; so he had to scramble along by the side of the bank. At last, he came to the end of the water, and then he managed to get up the perpendicular side of a gravel bank, and, hurrying on, reached a high gravel mound.
Paul Newland had closely followed him; he made up by resolution and sagacity for what he wanted in strength.
The two stood together watching the rest getting over. Some very nearly tumbled into the pool; and they had to shout to warn them of their danger. Farnham soon came up to the mound; but they did not begin to move till Ranger shouted out that all were safely over. Then Digby once more set off among the heather, and furze, and scattered pine-trees. The unevenness of the ground afforded an abundant variety in the run. Sometimes they came to deep gravel-pits, down which Digby plunged, skirting along the pools which filled their bottoms, and then climbing up their crumbling banks on the opposite side. The piece of common was soon passed; and then a copse-wood, filled with brakes and briars, had to be passed through. Dauntlessly, in spite of thorns and the numberless scratches they inflicted, Digby led the way. Shrieks and shouts of laughter burst from the boys as they rushed on, thrusting the boughs aside, and often letting them spring back in the face of those who followed. All was taken in good part; they were in too good spirits to lose their tempers. Once more they were in a cultivated field; it was in a sheltered position, and the wheat was much advanced.
“Look out, Heathcote; old Growler’s farm is not far off, and I shouldn’t be surprised but what the field belongs to him,” shouted Farnham.
Digby was keeping along the extreme border of the field, where no wheat was growing, so he knew that they could do no harm; and he had no intention of cutting across it. On he went, therefore, till he saw under the hedge a leafy arch over a drain, and he thought that he could pass through it.