“At any rate,” said he, “we know that the Hill has been called, ‘White Horse Hill,’ and the Vale, the ‘Vale of White Horse,’ ever since the time of Henry the First; for there are cartularies of the Abbey of Abingdon in the British Museum which prove it. So, I think, we may assume that they were called after the figure, and that the figure was there before that time.” “I’m very glad to hear that, Sir,” said I. “And then about the scourings and the pastime? They must have been going on ever since the Horse was cut out?” “Yes, I think so,” said he. “You have got quotations there from Wise’s letter, written in 1736. He says that the scouring was an old custom in his time. Well, take his authority for the fact up to that time, and I think I can put you in the way of finding out something, though not much, about most of the Scourings which have been held since.” And he was as good as his word; for he took me about after the pastime to some old men in the neighbouring parishes, from whom I found out a good deal that I have put down in this chapter. And the Squire, too, when Joe told him what I was about, helped me. Now I can’t say that I have found out all the Scourings which have been held since 1736, but I did my best to make a correct list, and this seems to be the proper place to set it all down. Well, the first Scouring, which I could find out any thing about, was held in 1755, and all the sports then seem to have been pretty much the same as those of the present day. But there was one thing which happened which could not very well have happened now. A fine dashing fellow, dressed like a gentleman, got on to the stage, held his own against all the old gamesters, and in the end won the chief prize for backsword-play, or cudgel-play, as they used to call it. While the play was going on there was plenty of talk as to who this man could be, and some people thought they knew his face. As soon as he had got the prize he jumped on his horse, and rode off. Presently, first one, and then another, said it was Tim Gibbons, of Lambourn, who had not been seen for some years, though strange stories had been afloat about him. It was the Squire who told me the story about Tim Gibbons; but he took me to see an old man who was a descendant of Tim’s, and so I think I had better give his own account of his ancestor and his doings. We found the old gentleman, a hale, sturdy old fellow, working away in a field at Woolstone, and, as near as I could get it, this was what he had to say about the Scouring of 1755:-- _Squire._ “Good morning, Thomas. How about the weather? Did the White Horse smoke his pipe this morning?” _Thos._ “Mornin’, Sir. I didn’t zee as ’a did. I allus notices he doos it when the wind blaws moor to th’ east’ard. I d’wont bode no rain to day, Sir.” _Squire._ “How old are you, Thomas?”