Barnabas walked on along the lane, head on breast, plunged in a
profound reverie, and following a haphazard course, so much so that,
chancing presently to look about him, he found that the lane had
narrowed into a rough cart track that wound away between high banks
gay with wild flowers, and crowned with hedges, a pleasant, shady
spot, indeed, as any thoughtful man could wish for.
Now as he walked, he noticed a dry ditch--a grassy, and most
inviting ditch; therefore Barnabas sat him down therein, leaning his
back against the bank.
"Beatrix!" said he, again, and thrusting his hands into his pockets
he became aware of the "priceless wollum." Taking it out, he began
turning its pages, idly enough, and eventually paused at one headed
thus: * * * * * THE CULT OF DRESS.
* * * * * But he had not read a dozen words when he was aware of a rustling of
leaves, near by, that was not of the wind, and then the panting of
breath drawn in painful gasps; and, therefore, having duly marked
his place with a finger, he raised his head and glanced about him.
As he did so, the hedge, almost opposite, was burst asunder and a man
came slipping down the bank, and, regaining his feet, stood staring
at Barnabas and panting. A dusty, bedraggled wretch he looked,
unshaven and unkempt, with quick, bright eyes that gleamed in the
pale oval of his face.
"What do you want?" Barnabas demanded.
"Everything!" the man panted, with the ghost of a smile on his
pallid lips; "but--the ditch would do."
"And why the ditch?"
"Because they're--after me."
"Who are?"
"Gamekeepers!"
"Then, you're a poacher?"
"And a very clumsy one--they had me once--close on me now."
"How many?"
"Two."
"Then--hum!--get into the ditch," said Barnabas.
Now the ditch, as has been said, was deep and dry, and next moment,
the miserable fugitive was hidden from view by reason of this, and
of the grasses and wild flowers that grew luxuriantly there; seeing
which, Barnabas went back to his reading.
"It is permitted," solemnly writes the Person of Quality, "that
white waistcoats be worn,--though sparingly, for caution is always
advisable, and a buff waistcoat therefore is recommended as safer.
Coats, on the contrary, may occasionally vary both as to the height
of the collar, which must, of course, roll, and the number of
buttons--"
Thus far the Person of Quality when: "Hallo, theer" roared a stentorian voice.
"Breeches, on the other hand," continues the Person of Quality
gravely, "are governed as inexorably as the Medes and Persians; thus,
for mornings they must be either pantaloons and Hessians--"
"Hallo theer! oho!--hi!--waken oop will 'ee!"
"Or buckskins and top boots--"
"Hi!" roared the voice, louder than ever, "you theer under
th' 'edge,--oho!"