The Argosy — page 211: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

194 Up on the Moor. first, down an old quarry, when the fog is so thick you can’t see a yard before you,” persisted Madge. “JT think you may make yourself easy on my account, though, of course, J am honoured by your solicitude. A sportsman must be prepared for a certain amount of risk, but I have never yet failed to make my head keep my feet from such dangers as you so vividly conjure up, Miss Carew.” There was just enough pride in the young man’s gay tone to check the reply which rose to Madge’s lips, but not to prevent a quiet whisper to her pet brother as she stood at the hall-door to watch the start. “ Don’t let Mr. Fairburn wander off alone, Tom, if you can help it. You know our fogs better than he does.” And good-natured, long-imbed ‘Tom nodded ready assent as he followed the Squire and his guest down the broad old steps. The three had done a capital morning’s work, and covered many a mile of broken, undulating moorland, before they sat down to their one o'clock lunch. So, perhaps, it was no great wonder that when the good things Madge’s own fair hands had carefully packed for them had been discussed with such appetite as four hours’ steady tramping could give, both Tom and the Squire should throw them- selves luxuriously back on the short, warm turf, and, from gazing in silence at the fleecy clouds sailing overhead, sink into one of those brief, delicious slumbers in which alone we taste the full enjoyment of sleep, while their two followers were busy disposing of the remains of the feast. But Aleck Fairburn was one of those uncomfortably restless mor- tals for whom even such an indulgence holds out no temptation; so that though for a little while he kept watch over his dozing com- panions with a laudable attempt at patience, it needed only the sight of a large bird sailing slowly down the wind at some little distance to make the young laird spring to his feet and seize his gun. “There goes aheron! I must have that fellow to stuff and pair with the one I got last year. I'll be back in half an hour, Mitchelmore.” The head-keeper looked up from his lunch with an aggrieved ex- pression on his shrewd, weather-beaten old face. ‘“ Now, look’ee here, Jan Pearce,” he remarked, severely, to his subordinate, as he watched the young fellow depart at a long, swing- ing pace: ‘“‘ when us started, this blessed mornin’, young Squire, he saith to me, ‘ Mitche’more,’ saith he, ‘ daunt’ee go fur to lose sight o’ that there young gen’leman, ’cause he’m a stranger to these ’ere parts.’ But I just put it to ’ee, Jan, de it raysonable to ax a man o’ my years to go aff a guse-gandering in the midst o’ his vittles?_ I bain’t a goin’ to do it, Jan Pearce! So there!” ‘Fes fay, Maister Mitche’more,” assented the under-keeper, warmly. ‘ Us wants our bit o’ vittles arl so well as the quality, us ECORnNIE DOO KS (f(0)