TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

eginning to look more idyllic than sporting now; it
'as dotted with primrose bunches, and the wild
nemones were numerous. Although I saw them with
lacid appreciation my uppermost thought was that
ie country was drying up nicely; deep going was
iclieved to be a disadvantage to Cockbird, who was
upposed to possess a turn of speed which he would
Lave more chance of showing if the ground were dry.

The early afternoon was quiet and Sunday-like as I
at with half a ham-sandwich in my hand; a saffron
mtterfly fluttered aimlessly along the hedge; miles
iway the grey-green barrier of the downs overlooked
.he inactive Weald, and I thought I'd rather like to
DC up there, by the old windmill on Ditchbury
3eacon.

Discarding this unsportsmanlike notion, I went on
my way; half an hour later my uncompanioned
identity had been merged in my meeting with Stephen
and we were very deliberately inspecting the first few
fences. There was a stake-and-bound hedge on a
bank which we didn't much like the look of. While
we were still planted in front of it the cheery voice of
Arthur Brandwick hailed us with "That's a place
where you'll have to take a pull at your old horse,
Steve.'* With him was Nigel Croplady, wearing
white gaiters and puffing a cigar; his somewhat
supercilious recognition of my existence made me feel
that I had no business to be there at all. Croplady
was on the Point-to-Point Committee; he had helped
to plan out the course and had supervised the making
up and trimming of the fences.

"I'm not at all sure we oughtn't to have made the
course a bit staffer," he remarked.

Brandwick replied that he wouldn't be saying that
if he were having a bump round it himself.