Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/341

328 The paint-pots were ranged beside the boat exceedingly early; but a maternal prohibition had gone forth against painting in oils before breakfast. Some hammering and sawing was heard, and the boat was water-tight by the time the breakfast-bell rang. This day, all were to do what they pleased: so, all the young people were on the river-bank by nine o’clock—the lads painting green, red, and white; their sisters dusting and mending the cushions; and little Harry pulling rushes. He was soon joined by those whose heads could not stand the painting process; and a great store of rush-baskets and hats would have been the result, if I had not chanced to meet the squire, our neighbour, who observed that he saw my boys were at home, and that they were welcome to shoot pigeons in his woods, if they liked. There was nothing else to be had, he said: all other wild birds were over; but if the lads liked pigeon-pie, they might try for one.

Of course, some hours were spent in the woods, by my sons and me. My wife and the girls had the sense to remain at home, or out of range of our fire. I promised the boys not to tell unnecessarily how many birds we brought home; but I may assert the fact that one pigeon will make a pie of that name—the only requisite being plenty of beef-steak, to make out with.

As change of work is as good as rest, we recreated ourselves after tea in a very unexceptionable manner—rolling the grass, planting potatoes in miniature style, and filling the orchard with the smoke of wet straw, as soon as we supposed the insects to be all at home for the night.

This day has been—the boys prematurely declare—the best of the holidays, which are not half over yet. The fair will use up Maundy Thursday: and we always pass a quiet day at home after church on Good Friday. Nanny’s wedding is enough for Monday; so we resolved to take this fine day for a long walk,—even to the summit of the Scar,—our high rock-crested hill, which the country-people call the Mountain. My wife cannot achieve the whole ascent: but she rides the pony up to the Fold; and then mounts somewhat further, and, with Bell, awaits our return where she stops, or at the Fold. Such was our plan to-day—only little Harry being left at home.

We started after breakfast, on as lovely an April morning as was ever seen in this country. We had the whole day before us; and we could stop when and where we pleased.

Our path lay so near the coppice above the waterfall that we turned into it, and mounted the bank of the brook till we came within hearing of the fall. There my wife fastened her pony to a tree, and went prying about, with the girls, among the gnarled old roots, for primroses. The pale-yellow stars revealed themselves in every recess; so that when the lads and I had bathed in the basin of the waterfall, and came down the path again, we found all the baskets brimming over with primroses; and the girls’ hats garnished with wood anemones. In a damp hollow they had found arums to set off the primroses with their dark leaves. They wished to dig up wood sorrel by the roots (with earth about them), to plant round the stems of trees at home, but were persuaded to wait till our return, rather than carry a needless burden out and back.

We were half-unwilling to leave the wood, with its beginnings of chequered shade. No tree was yet in leaf; but the ivy hung glittering about the stems; young ferns sprouted from the fork of trees in the damp corners: the thorns were distinctly tinged with green; buds were bursting on all bushes, trees, and hedges; and a belt of larches on the southern side was bright with green tassels and red tips. The last brown leaves of the oaks were dropping, one by one, as the swelling buds pushed them off: and this we regarded as the final parting with all traces of last year.

When we came forth upon the common, we found that the sycamores were forwarder than we had supposed from anything we saw in the wood. There were touches of vivid green on sunny parts of those dome-like trees, which made it seem strange that their foliage would be in a few weeks so dark—so gloomy, as some people think; so that a pair of them sheltering a farmhouse remind fanciful people of a pall. The chesnut leaves have hardly yet burst their sheaths, and unfolded their curious plaits. The ferns on the hedge-banks scarcely show at all yet; but we unrolled their coils as we walked, and whenever we sat on felled trees, where they cluster under the damp side.

We knew we should find it hot on the common; but the wind was now fresh and cool from the sea. How the chicks pattered and scudded about the cottage gables; and the goslings ran in and out from the furze bushes, now growing more brilliantly yellow from day to day. We saw only two or three lambs—cottage pets, evidently; for the grass is not forward enough yet to yield the ewes sufficient food. Already, however, the whole expanse of grass, far and near, has lost its ugly early spring tint—the hay colour which makes the eye thirst for verdure. Under the gorse-bushes the grass is of the most vivid green, and we see that the uplands will soon follow suit.

From one of the cottages came forth the good woman to ask us whether we would bespeak a sucking-pig. The farrow was so large, that her husband would take half the little ones to market, and keep the other half. The general remark that we liked roast pig settled the matter, and it moreover brought on a series of very appetising observations. My wife wondered why so much more ham was cooked at this season than any other. We supposed it might be because the dishes it accompanied are of a remarkably mild quality; young veal in all its forms, spring chickens, and turkey-poults. In America, ham or salt pork is eaten with lamb: but, then, as my wife observed, so it is with mutton. Somebody thought it might go very well with sturgeon—a true April dish, and very like veal. From sturgeon we went off to mullet, now in the midst of its short season, and down, through carp and tench, to mackerel and herrings—those common but most welcome spring fish.