he property of Steve's
eldest boy. He was spoken of as a pet.

This was the touch needed to complete my Arcadia; the injection of
what, at the time, I considered to be poetry into the excellent prose
of open air life. Who could see that graceful, pretty creature, and
remain unmoved? Not I, at all events. I fancied myself as a knight of
old in the royal forest, which gave a touch of the archaic to my
speech. "Come here, thou sweet-eyed forest child!" I cried, and here
he came! At an estimate I should say that he was four axe-handles, or
about twelve feet high, as he upended himself, brandished his antlers,
and jumped me. My axe was at a distance. I moved. I played knight to
king's bishop's eighth, in this case represented by a fork of the
nearest tree. A wise and subtle piece of strategy, as it resulted in a
drawn game.

[Illustration: "A wise and subtle piece of strategy"]

My friend stood erect for a while, making warlike passes with his front
feet (which, by the way, are as formidable weapons as a man would care
to have opposed to him); then, seeing that there was no sporting blood
in me, he devoured my lunch and went away--a course I promptly imitated
as far as I could; I departed.

Hitherto, I had both liked and admired Steve. His enormous strength,
coupled with an unexpected agility and an agreeable way he had of
treating you as if you were quite his own age, endeared him to me.
When I poured out my troubles to him, however, rebuking him for
allowing such a savage beast to be at large, he caused my feelings to
undergo a change. For, instead of sympathising, he fell to uproarious
laughter, slapped his leg, and swore that it was the best thing he'd
ever heard of, and wished he'd been there to see it.

I concluded, judicially, that Steve had virtues, but that he was at the
last merely a very big man of coarse fibre. Perhaps I had been a
little boastful previously concerning my behaviour under trying
circumstances. If so, I was well paid out for it. That night I had
the pleasure of listening to an account of my adventures, spiced with
facetious novelties of Steve's invention, such as that my cries for
help were audible to the house, and only the fact that he couldn't tell
from which direction they came prevented Steve from rushing to my
rescue, and that all the deer wanted was my lunch, anyhow. I wished I
had kept the lunch episode to myself.

[Illustration: "An account of my adventures"]

Ther