“Yes, indeed we shall, Jack,” said Mr Harwood, who came up at that moment. “I may be able to give you some useful introductions, when I hear where you are going. I have many friends scattered about the country, north and south.”
“And you will not mind introducing me,” asked Jack with kindling eye, “though I follow the calling of what Kate calls a poor, miserable drover?”
“Oh, no, no!” answered the Squire, “not if you always show the spirit you did this afternoon, and that I am sure you will wherever you go, or whatever calling you follow.”
Here he took Jack’s hand, and pressed it kindly in presence of the various people of fashion who were walking up and down the terrace. Mrs Deane observed the action, and seemed well pleased with the attention paid her younger son. Taking somewhat after herself, he was, it must be confessed, her favourite.
The sun was now sinking over the distant hills, and as the mist began to rise from the river below, the parties on the terrace gradually dispersed, the Deane family and their friends returning to their mansion, where they assembled once more round their well-spread board, at eight o’clock precisely, the fashionable hour for supper. Jack, in better spirits than he had been in the afternoon, joined the family party. Songs were sung, and numerous stories told by Dr Nathaniel, Mr Pinkstone, and other acknowledged wits of the party. Ere ten o’clock had struck, the whole party retired to their chambers, our forefathers being of opinion that early to bed and early rising was far more conducive to health than the late hours adopted by the present generation.
Chapter Three.
A Poaching Expedition to Colwick Park—Jack forms an Acquaintance who leads him into Difficulties.
As soon as the party broke up, Jack hurried to his room, and very contrary to his usual custom threw himself into a chair, and unconsciously pressing his hand on his brow, rested his elbow on the little oak table which stood by his bedside. The way in which the walls were adorned showed the tastes of the occupant of the chamber. The most honoured ornament was a fowling-piece with a curious lock lately invented, the gift of Cousin Nat, and which had superseded the stout cross-bow hanging beneath it. One wall was devoted to fishing-rods, tackle, and nets. Among them was a rod of which Izaak Walton, that great professor of the gentle art, had himself spoken approvingly when once, while fishing in the silvery Trent, he had seen it flourished in Cousin Nat’s hands. There were two sets of foils with masks and gloves, and several cudgels with strange knots and devices, cut from ancient trees in Sherwood Forest, beneath whose once wide-spreading boughs certain feats of the renowned Robin Hood were said to have been performed. In one and all the tales relating to the exploits of the bold outlaw, it is scarcely necessary to say that Jack put the most implicit faith, and would have been highly indignant had any one ventured to doubt their authenticity or correctness. In one corner of the room stood a book-case, a very unpretending piece of furniture in itself, but it contained every ballad Jack believed to have been written, or at all events on which he could lay hold, connected with Robin Hood. It contained however other tomes: besides several schoolbooks, their dark covers sadly battered, and their leaves inked, dog’s-eared, and torn, there were kind Izaak Walton’s “Complete Angler,” highly prized by Jack; Foxe’s “Book of Martyrs,” presented to him by Aunt Bethia; and a work he valued more than all the others—Purchas’s “Travels:” and often and often as he conned these pages he longed to be able to visit the strange countries and to go through the wonderful adventures therein described.