a bad prophecy:--"Yes, sir, but
you said so-and-so would happen." The third outdoor man was Thomas
Price, generally known as the Dormouse on account of his somnolent manner
of working. We, as boys, believed him to be a deserter from the army on
account of the military set of his shoulders, and because he had arrived
in the village an unknown wanderer. He was a bachelor and spent more
than was wise on beer. For the last few years of his life my mother made
him save money by the simple process of retaining part of his wages in
her own hands. In this way he unwillingly acquired some 20 or 30 pounds,
but as he refused to leave it to those who took care of him in his last
illness, it went to the Crown, to whom I hope it made up for the loss of
T. Price's very doubtful military services.

In later years it occurred to us that the methods of gardening at Down
were antiquated, and we persuaded our parents to engage an active young
Scotchman whom I will call X, and who was placed in command of Lettington
and the Dormouse (the gloomy Brooks having been pensioned). The two old
servants were dreadfully bustled by X, and I well remember their flushed
faces after the first morning's digging in the serious Scotch manner.
After a time, finding that matters were very little looked after, X began
some mysterious dealings in cows with a neighbouring farmer, and it was
suddenly discovered that a cow had disappeared. I remember my shame at
finding I did not know how many cows we ought to have, nor could I swear
to their personal appearance. But by dint of cross-examination I was
enabled to draw up a statement of how cow A had been sold, cow B bought,
and cow C exchanged for cow D, etc. Finally the ingenious X was
discharged, and the rejoicing Lettington and Dormouse reinstated. But
before this fortunate conclusion, I had at my father's bidding taken
steps to obtain a summons against X. I remember thinking what a fool I
should look when cross-examined before the magistrates. Another
circumstance is impressed on my mind. The affair occurred in that
remarkable October in which the trees were greatly injured by a
snowstorm, and as I drove in a dog-cart through Holwood Park in search of
the summons, I thought, as the trees cracked like pistols, that it was
hardly worth while being crushed to death for the sake of any number of
cows. Finally X was not prosecuted, and departed in peace.

To return to my childhood: I came between Geo