English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
This youth, by name Timothy, returning from his apprenticeship to a
brewer at Plymouth after futile endeavours to master that profitable
business, decided to follow in his father’s footsteps, much to the
elder’s disappointment. Timothy Chave elected to be a farmer, however,
and coming home a fortnight before Christmas, he devoted his days and
nights to the pleasure of sport as a preliminary to the tremendous
application he promised when the new year should come. He was two years
younger than John Aggett and a youth of higher intelligence and finer
clay; but he found in John an ideal follower by flood and field. There
came a day, one week before the Christmas festival, when for particular
reasons Tim desired a heavy bag. John was therefore begged off his farm
duties, and the young men, rising by starlight, trod the high land and
pressed forward before dawn toward Aggett’s familiar haunts.
Young Chave, a lad of good repute and handsome exterior, had learned his
lessons at Blundell’s School, was accounted a very clever youth, and held
in much esteem as a traveller and a scholar amidst the natives of
Postbridge. His mother spoiled him and fooled him to the top of his
bent; his father had been proud of him until the lad’s recent
determination to soar no higher than the life of a countryman.
This present excursion bore reference to a special event, as has been
said. There were coming from North Devon to Believer Barton, for the
holiday season, sundry poor cousins of the Chaves. On Christmas Eve they
would arrive, and, as a certain pretty damsel of seventeen was to
accompany her elders, Timothy’s generous heart determined that moorland
delicacies must await her, if his right arm, long fowling-piece and
liver-coloured spaniel could secure them. With this excuse he had won
John Aggett away from the cow-byres, and together, as day broke, they
passed southward to Dartmeet, held on by Combestone Tor and presently
tramped into the lonely and desolate fastnesses of Holne Moor. Here,
with cautious passage across half-frozen swamps, the sportsmen sought
their game.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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