e afraid of falling, but to learn how to take a fall. My own
bent, however, was never for the things of the land, and though
gallops on the Dee Sands, and races with our cousins, who owned a
broncho and generally beat us, had their fascination, boats were the
things which appealed most to me.

Having funds at our disposal, we were allowed to purchase material,
and under the supervision of a local carpenter, to build a boat
ourselves. To this purpose our old back nursery was forthwith
allocated. The craft which we desired was a canoe that would enable us
to paddle or drift along the deep channels of the river, and allow us
to steal upon the flocks of birds feeding at the edges. Often in
memory I enjoy those days again--the planning, the modelling, the
fitting, the setting-up, and at last, the visit of inspection of our
parents. Alas, stiff-necked in our generation, we had insisted on
straight lines and a square stern. Never shall I forget the
indignation aroused in me by a cousin's remark, "It looks awful like a
coffin." The resemblance had not previously struck either of us, and
father had felt that the joke was too dangerous a one to make, and had
said nothing. But the pathos of it was that we now saw it all too
clearly. My brother explained that the barque was intended to be not
"seen." Ugliness was almost desirable. It might help us if we called
it the "Reptile," and painted it red--all of which suggestions were
followed. But still I remember feeling a little crestfallen, when
after launching it through the window, it lay offensively resplendent
against the vivid green of the grass. It served, however, for a time,
ending its days honourably by capsizing a friend and me, guns and all,
into the half-frozen water of the lower estuary while we were
stalking some curlew. I had to run home dripping. My friend's gun,
moreover, having been surreptitiously borrowed from my cousin's
father, was recovered the following day, to our unutterable relief.
Out of the balance of the money spent on the boat, we purchased a
pin-fire, breech-loading gun, the pride of my life for many days. I
was being kept back from school at the time on account of a cold, but
I was not surprised to find myself next day sitting in a train, bound
for Marlborough, and "referred once more to my studies."

A little later my father, not being satisfied, took me away to read
with a tutor for the London matriculation, in which without any
trouble, I received