'
"Once every year 'Parson Jack' used to come and dine and sleep at my old
home to keep his birthday, in company with my father and mother. At such
times we as children used to come down to dessert to hear him tell
stories in his racy way of Katerfelto, of long gallops over Exmoor after
the stag, or of hard runs after the little 'red rover' with Mr.
Fellowes' hounds."
"What dogs have you now?" inquired Mrs. Hamilton.
"Amongst others, a large St. Bernard," is my reply--"Bathsheba, so
called after Mr. Hardy's heroine. Not that she has any of that young
lady's delicate changes and complications of character, nor is she even
'almighty womanish.'
"Our Bathsheba is of an inexhaustible good temper, stupid, and
wonderfully stolid and gentle. She is never crusty, and is the untiring
playmate of any child. The 'Lubber fiend' we call her sometimes in fun,
for she seems to extend over acres of carpet when she takes a siesta in
the drawing-room.
"'Has she a soul?' inquired a friend who admired the great gentle
creature. 'I fear not,' was my reply; 'only a stomach.'
"Besides Bathsheba, we have a large retriever called 'Frolic.' He and
Bath are given sometimes to running after people who go to the back
door; they never bite, but growl, and bark if it is a complete
stranger.
"On one occasion, an Irishman who had been employed to do some draining
met with this hostile reception.
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