Lor' how the winders rattled! you'd almost ha
thought that thieves
Were wrenching at the shutters, while a ceaseless pelt
of leaves
Flew at the door in gusts; and I could hear tho beck
Calling so loud I knew at once it was up to a tall man's
neck.

We was huddling in tho harness-room, by a little scrap
of fire,
And Tom, the coachman he was there, a practising for
the choir;
But it sounded dismal, anthem did, for squire was dying
fast,
And the doctor'd said, do what he would, " Squire's
breaking up at last."

The Death watch, sure enough, ticked loud just over
th' owd mare's head,
Though he had never once been heard up there since
master's boy lay dead;
And the only sound, besides Tom's toon, was the stirring
in the stalls,
And the gnawing and the scratching of the rats in the
owd walls.

We couldn't hear Death's foot pass by, but we knew
that he was near;
And the chill rain, and the wind and cold made us all
shake with fear;
We listened to the clock upstairs, 'twas breathing soft
and low,
For the nurse said at the turn of night tho old squire's
soul would go.

Master had been a wildish man, and led a roughish
life;
Didn't he shoot the Bowton squire, who dared write
to his wife?
He beat the Rads at Hindon town, I heard, in 'twenty-
nine,
When every pail in market place was brimmed with red
port wine.

And as for hunting, bless your soul, why for forty year
or more
He'd kept tho Marley hounds, man, as his fayther did
afore;
And now to die, and in his bed—the season just begun—
It made him fret, the doctor said, as "t might do anyone.

And when the young sharp lawyer came to see him sign
his will,
Squire made me blow my horn outside as we were going
to kill;
And we turned the hounds out in the court—that seemed
to do him good;
For he swore, and sent us off to seek a fox in Thornhill
wood.

But then the fever it rose high, and he would go see the
room
Where missus died ten years ago when Lammastide shall
come:
I mind the year, because our mare at Salisbury broke
down;
Moreover the town hall was burnt at Steeple Dinton
town.

It might be two, or half past two, the wind seemed
quite asleep;
Tom, he was off, but I awake, sat watch and ward to
keep;
The moon was up, quite glorious like, the rain no longer
fell,
When all at once out clashed and clanged the rusty
turret bell.

That hadn't been heard for twenty year, not since the
Luddite days,
Tom he leaped up, and I leaped up, for all the house
ablaze
Had sure not scared us half as much, and out we ran
like mad;
I, Tom, and Joe, the whipper in, and t' little stable lad.

"He's killed himself," that's the idea that came into
my head;
I felt as sure as though I saw Squire Barrowby was
dead;
When all at once a door flew back, and he met us face
to face;
His scarlet coat was on his back, and he looked like the
old race.

The nurse was clinging to his knees, and crying like a
child;
The maids were sobbing on the stairs, for he looked
fierce and wild:
" Saddle me Lightning Bess, my man," that's what he
said to me;
"The moon is up, we're sure to find at Stop or
Etterby.

"Get out tho dogs; I'm well to-night, and young again
and sound;
I'll have a run once more before they put me
underground;
They brought my father home feet first, and it never
shall be said
That his son Joe, who, rode so straight, died quietly in
his bed.

Brandy!" he cried; " a tumbler full, you women howling
there;"
Then clapped the old black velvet cap upon his long
grey hair,
Thrust on his boots, snatched down his whip; though
he was old and weak,
There was a devil in his eye, that would not let me
speak.

We loosed the dogs to humour him, and sounded on the
horn;
The moon was up above the woods, just east of Haggard
Bourne;
I buckled Lightning's throat lash fast; the squire was
watching me;
He let the stirrups down himself, so quick, yet
carefully.

Then up he got and spurred the mare, and, ere I well
could mount,
He drove the yard gate open, man, and called to old
Dick Blount,
Our huntsman, dead five years ago—for the fever rose
again,
And was spreading, like a flood of flame, fast up into
his brain.

Then off he flew before tho dogs, yelling to call us on,
While we stood there, all pale and dumb, scarce knowing
he was gone;
We mounted, and below the hill wo saw the fox break
out,
And down the covert ride we heard the old squire's parting
shout.

And in tho moonlit meadow mist we saw him fly the
rail
Beyond the hurdles by the beck, just half way down the
vale;
I saw him breast fence after fence—nothing could turn
him back;
And in the moonlight after him streamed out the brave
old pack.

'Twas like a dream, Tom cried to me, as we rode free
and fast;
Hoping to turn him at the brook, that could not well
be past,
For it was swollen with the rain; but, Lord, 'twas not
to be;
Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but the broad
breast of the sea.

The hounds swept on, and well in front the mare had
got her stride;
She broke across the fallow land that runs by the down
side;