CHAPTER X
They had not been there many days when the old Cock-Pheasant came upto them and invited them back to Bremridge Wood.
"I can assure you," he said very pompously, "that you shall not bedisturbed again for at least a year."
"Why, Sir Phasianus," said the Stag, "I thought you had vowed never toenter it again."
"In a moment of haste I believe that I may have done so," said the oldbird; "but I have thought it over, and I cannot conceive how my woodcan get on without me. How should all those foolish, timid birds lookafter themselves without me, their king, to direct them? No! there Iwas hatched, and there I must stay till I end my days. And I shallfeel proud if you will join me, and stay with me, and honour my woodwith your presence on--ahem!--an interesting occasion."
"Indeed?" said the Stag.
"Yes," said the old Pheasant; "I had the misfortune to lose my wifewhen the wood was shot some weeks ago. She had not the courage to comehere with me,"--(this, I am sorry to say, was not quite true, for hehad run away alone to take care of himself without thinking of goingto fetch her)--"and I am contemplating a new alliance--not directly,you understand--but in a couple of months I hope to have the pleasureof presenting you to my bride."
The Stag was much tempted to ask how he could marry a Chinese; and theHind hesitated for a moment, for, as you will find out some day, everymother is deeply interested in a wedding. But she and the Stag did notlike to be disturbed, and they could not trust the Cock-Pheasant'sassurance after all that had happened; besides, she had arrangementsof her own to make for the spring. So they congratulated him and badehim good-bye; nor did they ever see him again. And if you ask me whatbecame of him, I think that he must have died in a good old age,unless, indeed, he was that very big bird with the very long spursthat was shot by Uncle Archie last year. For he was such a bird as wenever see nowadays, and, as he said himself, the last of his race.
So the winter wore away peacefully in the valley, and the spring cameagain. The Stag shed his horns earlier than in the previous year, andbegan to grow a finer pair than any that he had yet worn. And a littlelater the Hind brought him a little Calf, so that there were now threeof them in the valley, and a very happy family they were. So therethey stayed till quite late in the summer, and indeed they might neverhave moved, if they had not met the Salmon again one day when theywent down to the river. He was swimming upward slowly and gracefully,his silver coat brighter than ever, and his whole form broader anddeeper and handsomer in every way. He jumped clean out of the waterwhen he saw them, and the Stag welcomed him back and asked him wherehe had been.
"Been?" said the Salmon, "why, down to the sea. We went down with thefirst flood after you left us, and merry it was in the glorious saltwater. We met fish from half a dozen other rivers; and the littlefellows that you saw in their silver jackets asked to be remembered toyou, though you would hardly know them now, for they are grown intobig Salmon. But we were obliged to part at last and go back to ourrivers, and hard work it was climbing some of the weirs down below, Ican tell you; indeed, my wife could not get over one of them, and Iwas obliged to leave her behind. Ah, there's no place like the sea! Isthere, my little fellow?" he said, looking kindly at the little Calf.
But the Hind was obliged to confess, with some shame, that her Calfhad never seen the sea.
"What! an Exmoor Deer, and never seen the sea?" exclaimed the Salmon;and though he said no more, both Stag and Hind bethought them that itwas high time for their Calf to see not only the sea, but the moor. Sothey bade the Salmon good-bye, and soon after moved out of the valleyto the forest, and over the forest to the heather. And the Stag couldnot resist the temptation of going to look for old Bunny, so away theywent to her bury. But when he got there, though he saw other Rabbits,he could perceive no sign of her; nor was it till he had asked a greatmany questions that one of the Rabbits said:
"Oh! you'm speaking of great-grandmother, my lord. She's in to bury,but she's got terrible old and tejious." And she popped into a hole,from which after a while old Bunny came out. Her coat was rusty, herteeth were very brown, and her eyes dim with age; and at first shehardly seemed to recognise the Stag; but she had not quite lost hertongue, for after a time she put her head on one side and began.
"Good-day, my lord; surely it was you that my Lady Tawny brought tosee me years agone, when you was but a little tacker. 'Tis few thatcomes to see old Bunny now. Ah! she was a sweet lady, my Lady Tawny,but her's gone. And Lady Ruddy was nighly so sweet, but her's gone.And the old Greyhen to Badgworthy, she was a good neighbour, but her'sgone; and her poults be gone, leastways they don't never bring nopoults to see me. And my last mate, he was caught in a net. I said tomun, 'Nets isn't nothing;' I says, 'When you find nets over a bury,bite a hole in mun and run through mun, as I've a-done many times.'But he was the half of a fule, as they all be; and he's gone. Andthere's my childer and childer's childer, many of them's gone, andthose that be here won't hearken to my telling. And--"
But here the other Rabbit cut in. "Let her ladyship spake to 'ee,grandmother. Please not to mind her, my lady, for she's mortaltejious."
But old Bunny went on. "Is it my Lady Tawny or my Lady Ruddy? I'm sureI can't tell. I'm old, my lady, and they won't let me spake. But Iwish you good luck with your little son. Ah! the beautiful calves thatI've seen, and the beautiful poults, and my own beautiful childer. Butthere's hounds, and there's hawks, and there's weasels and there'sfoxes; and there's few lasts so long as the old Bunny, and 'tis 'mosttime for her to go." Then she crept back slowly into the hole, andthey saw her no more.
So they went on and found other deer; but Ruddy was gone, as old Bunnyhad said, and Aunt Yeld alone remained of the Stag's old friends. Shetoo was now very old and grey, and her slots were worn down, and herteeth and tushes blunted with age. But the Hind and Calf weredelighted to meet with deer again, and they soon made friends and werehappy. But as the autumn passed away and winter began to draw on, theStag grew anxious to return to the valley again, and would have hadthe Hind come too; but she begged so hard to be allowed to stay on themoor, that he could not say her no. She always lay together with otherHinds, and they gossiped so much about their calves that the Stag tookto the company of other stags on Dunkery; but he always had a cravingto get back to the valley for the winter, and after a few weeks hewent back there by himself.
And lucky it was for him, as it chanced, for in January there came agreat storm of snow, which for three weeks covered the moor, blottingout every fence and every little hollow in an unbroken, tracklesswaste of white. The deer on the forest were hard put to it for food,and even our Stag in the valley was obliged to go far afield. But hesoon found out the hay-mows where the fodder was cut for the bullocks,and helped himself freely; nor was he ashamed now and then to takesome of the turnips that had been laid out for the sheep, when hecould find them. So he passed well through the hard weather, and whenthe snow melted and the streams came pouring down in heavy flood, hesaw the old Salmon come sailing down in his dirty red suit, andthought that, though both of them had been through hard times, he hadgot through them the better of the two.
Then the spring came and he began to grow sleek and fat; and, when heshed his horns, the new ones began once more to grow far larger thanever before. So he settled down for a luxurious summer, and took thebest of everything in the fields all round the coverts. And when thelate summer came he found that he needed a big tree to help him to rubthe velvet from his horns, so he chose a fine young oak and went roundit so often, rubbing and fraying and polishing, that he fairly cut thebark off from all round the trunk and left the tree to die.
One morning, soon after he had cleaned his head, he went out to feedin the fields as usual, and had just made his lair in the covert forthe day, when he was aware of a man, who came along one of the pathswith his eyes on the ground. The Stag waited till he was gone, andthen quietly rose and left the valley for the open moor. For he had ashrewd suspicion that all was not right when a man came round lookingfor his s
lot in the early morning; and he was wise, for a few hourslater the men and hounds came and searched for him everywhere. And heheard them from his resting place trying the valley high and low, andchuckled to himself when he thought how foolish the man was whothought to harbour him in such a fashion.
But after this he left the valley for good, and went back to thecoverts that overhung the sea, where he hid himself so cunningly dayafter day that he was never found during the whole of that season.And when October came and the deer began to herd together, he lookedabout for his wife, but he could not find her anywhere, and he had sadmisgivings that the hounds might have driven her away, or worse, whilehe was away in the valley. His only comfort was the reflection that ifhe wished to marry again, and he and another stag should fancy thesame bride, he could fight for her instead of stealing her away. Allthat winter he lay on Dunkery with other stags, as big as himself andbigger, for he was now a fine Deer, and began to take his place withthe lords of the herd. And he grew cunning too, for he soon found outthat hinds and not stags are hunted in the winter-time, and he did notdistress himself by running hard when there was no occasion for it. Hewould hear the hounds chasing in the woods quite close to him andnever move.
One winter's day when he was lying in a patch of gorse with threeothers, he heard the hounds come running so directly towards him thatin spite of himself he raised his head to listen. And immediatelyafter, old Aunt Yeld came up in the greatest distress, and lay downclose to them. An old stag next to her was just rising to drive heroff, when a hound spoke so close to them that they all dropped theirchins to the ground and lay like stones. And poor Aunt Yeld whisperedpiteously, "Oh! get up and run; I am so tired; do help me." But not astag would move, and our Stag, I am sorry to say, lay as still as therest. Then the hounds came within five yards of them, but still theylay fast, till poor Aunt Yeld jumped up in despair and ran off. "Mayyou never know the day," she said, "when you shall ask for help andfind none! But the brown peat-stream, I know, will be my friend." Andshe flung down the hill to the water in desperation, with the houndshard after her; and they never saw her again.
So the Stag lived on in the woods above the cliffs and on the forestfor two years longer. Each year found his head heavier and bearingmore points, his back broader, his body heavier and sleeker, and hisslots greater and rounder and blunter. He knew of all the bestfeeding-grounds, so he was always well nourished, and he had learnedof so many secure hiding-places in the cliff from the old stag whom hehad served as squire, that he was rarely disturbed. More than once hewas roused by the hounds in spite of all that he could do, but hewould turn out every deer in the covert sooner than run himself; andwhen, notwithstanding all his tricks, he was one day forced into theopen, he ran cunningly up and down the water as his mother had showedhim, and so got a good start of the hounds. Then he cantered on tillhe caught the wind of a lot of hinds and calves and dashed straightinto the middle of them, frightening them out of their lives. He neverremembered how much he had disliked to be disturbed in this way whenhe was a calf; he only thought that the hounds would scatter in alldirections after the herd. And so they did, while he cantered on tothe old home where he had known the Vixen and the Badger, took a goodbath, and then lay down chuckling at his own cleverness.
A very selfish old fellow you will call him, and I think you areright; but unluckily stags do become selfish as they grow older. Buthe always kept to the chivalrous rule that the post of honour in aretreat is the rear-guard, and always ran behind the hinds when rousedwith a herd of them by the hounds. Still, selfish he was, and thoughhe had profited by all of Aunt Yeld's early lessons, he forgot untiltoo late the last words that she had spoken to him, even though as acalf he had once saved her life.
CHAPTER XI
One beautiful morning at the very end of September our Stag was lyingin the short plantations above the cliffs in a warm sunny bed of whichhe had long been very fond, when his ear was disturbed, as had sooften happened before, by the cry of hounds. He did not mind it somuch now, for he knew that it meant at any rate that they were huntingsome other deer than himself. And it was plain to him that they hadfound the stag that they wanted, for not two or three couple butseventeen or eighteen were speaking to the scent. Therefore he layquite still, never doubting that before long they would leave thecovert. And so it seemed that it would be, for presently the cryceased, and he had good reason to hope that they had gone away. Theonly thing that disquieted him was that the horses seemed always to bemoving all over the plantation, instead of galloping over the moor. Hewas still lying fast when he heard two horses come trotting up towithin thirty yards of his lair; and peering carefully through thebranches he saw them and recognised them. One of them was the fair manwhom he had seen so often before, still riding the same grey horse,which was grown so light as to be almost white. But the man wasgreatly changed. His face was thin and hollow, and would have beenpale if it had not been burnt brown; the tiny hair on the upper liphad grown to a great red moustache; and the blue eyes were sunk deepin his head. And he rode with his reins in his right hand, for hisleft was hung in a sling, so that he could hardly hold his whip. Butfor all that he was as quick and lively as ever, and his eyes neverceased roving over the plantation. And by him rode the beautiful girlwhom he had seen with him before, her face aglow with happiness; andshe seemed so proud of him that she never took her eyes off his facefor an instant, except now and then to glance pityingly at his woundedhand. They pulled up not far from the Stag and waited.
And presently a hind came up, cantering anxiously through theplantation, for she had laid her calf down and did not wish to go farfrom him. She blundered on so close to the Stag that he would havegot up and driven her away if he had not been afraid of being seen.But she passed on, and very soon the hounds came up after her. Thenthe man brought the white horse across them, trying hard to stop themfrom her line, but he could not use his whip; and they only swervedpast him, still running hard, straight to the bed of the Stag. And uphe jumped, his glossy coat gleaming bright in the sun, and every houndleaped forward with a cry of exultation as he rose.
He went off at the top of his speed straight through the plantation,for he knew that he had the better of the hounds through the thicket.But they ran harder than he had ever known since the day when they haddriven him to sea as a yearling, and, as he could wind no other deer,he made up his mind to cross the moor for the friendly valley where hehad lived so long. So turning his head from the sea he leaped out ofthe plantation, and ran down to the water below. He would gladly havetaken a bath then and there, but the hounds were too close; sosplashing boldly through it he cantered aslant up the steep hillbeyond as though it had been level ground. And when he gained the top,he felt the West wind strike cool upon him, and saw the long waves ofheather and grass rise before him till they met the sky. Then he sethis face bravely for the highest point, for beyond it was the refugethat he sought.
And on he went, and on and on, cantering steadily but very fast, forthough he heard no sound of their tongues he knew that the hounds wereracing after him, as mute as mice. The blackcock fled away screamingbefore him, the hawk high in air wheeled aside as he passed, but on hewent through the sweet, pink heather, without pausing to notice them.Then the heather became sparse and thin, growing only in ragged tuftsamid the rank red grass and sheets of white bog-flower. He had lain inthis wet ground many times, but no deer was there to help him to-day.Then the wet ground was passed and the heather came again, sound andfirm, sloping down to a brown peat-stream. Never had its song soundedso sweet in his ears, never had he longed more for a bath in the amberwater, but the hounds were still racing and he dared not wait. So hesplashed on through the stream and up another ridge, where the heathergrew but thinly amid a wilderness of hot stones. The sun smotefiercely upon him, and the air was close as he cantered down from theridge into the combe beyond it, but he cared not, for he knew thatthere again was water. He ran up it for a few yards, but only for afew yards, for the hounds were still running their harde
st, and hemust wait till the great slope of grass before him was past.
So he breasted it gallantly, up, and up, and up. The grass was thickover the treacherous ground, but his foot was still too light topierce it, and he cantered steadily on. His mouth was growing parched,but he still felt strong, and he knew that when the hill was crossedhe would find more water to welcome him. At last he reached thesummit, and there spread out before him were Dartmoor and the sea, andfar, far below him the haven of his choice; and the cool breeze fromthe sea breathed upon his nostrils, and he gathered strength and hope.There was still one more hollow to be crossed before he reached thelong slope down to the valley, but there was water in it, and he mighthave time for a hasty draught. So still he pressed on with the samesteady stride, hoping that he might wait at any rate for a few minutesin the stream, for thirst and heat were growing upon him, and helonged for a bath. But no! it was dangerous to wait; and he turnedaway sick at heart from the sparkling ripple, and faced the ascentbefore him. And now the grass seemed to coil wickedly round hisdew-claws as if striving to hold them down; and he tugged his feetimpatiently from its grasp, though more than once he had half a mindto turn back to the water. But he had chosen his refuge, and hestruggled gamely on.
At last he was at the top, and only one long unbroken slope of heatherlay between him and the valley that he knew so well; and he turnedinto a long, deep combe which ran down to it, that he might not beseen. Down, and down, and down he ran, steadying himself andrecovering his breath. At every stride he saw the trickle of waterfrom the head of the combe grow larger and larger as other tricklesjoined it from every side, and he knew that he was near his refuge atlast. Presently he came upon a patch of yellow gorse, which had thrustup its flaming head through the heather, and he plunged heavilythrough it, knowing that it would check the hounds. Another fewhundred yards and he was within the covert, in the cool deep shade ofthe oak-coppice, with the merry river brawling beneath him.
And he scrambled down eagerly through the trees and plunged into thebrown water. How delicious it was after that fierce race over theheather, running cool and full and strong under the shadow of thecoppice! He hardly paused to drink, but ran straight down stream, forhis heart misgave him that the hounds had gained on him while he wasstruggling up the last steep ascent. And the water carried him on, nowracing down his dew-claws, now lapping round his hocks, now risingquiet and still almost to his mane, sometimes for a few secondsraising him off his weary legs and bearing him gently down.
Only too soon he heard the deep voice of the hounds throwing theirtongues as they entered the wood, but he kept running steadily down,refreshed at every step by the sweet, cool water, and screened fromall view by the canopy of hazel and alder that overhung it. At last heleft it, and turning up into the woods ran on through them down thevalley. Once he tried to scale the hill to the next valley, but hefound the air hot and stifling under the dense green leaves, and hefelt so much distressed that he turned back and continued his waydown. Presently there rose up faintly behind him the deep note that heknew so well of the old black and tan hound; then the voices of otherhounds chimed in together with it, and he knew that they had hit theplace at which he had left the water. He heard the sound of the horncome floating down the valley, and tried hard to mend his pace, but hecould not; and at last he was fain to leave the wood and come back tothe water.
Again he ran down, and again the friendly stream coursed round him andrevived him. So he splashed on for a time and then he sought the woodsanew in hope of finding help, but he could not stay in them long, andreturned once more to the water. At last, on turning round a bend inthe stream, he came upon a Heron, standing watching for eels, and hecried out to him, "Oh! stand still. I won't hurt you. Stand still tillthe hounds come, and the men will think that I have not passed." Butthe Heron was too shy to listen, and flapped heavily away. Then hecame to a bridge, where his passage was barred by a pole, but he threwhis horns back and managed to jump between the pole and the arch,without touching anything, and though he could not help splashing thepole, he made his way down without leaving the water.
At length he came to the end of the woods, and here he hesitated,longing for some one to tell him about the stream further down, forit was strange to him. And he remembered Aunt Yeld's words, "May younever know what it is to look for help and to find none." But he couldhear nothing of the hounds, and almost began to hope that he mighthave beaten them. So at last he found a corner thickly overhung withbranches, and there he lay down in the water. And then whom should hesee but the Lady Salmon making her way slowly up the stream, the veryfriend who could tell him what he wanted to know.
But before he could speak to her she said, "Beware of going furtherdown, for there is a flood-gate across the stream which you cannotpass. Have you seen my husband?"
And he told her, "Yes," and she swam on, while he lay still and madeup his mind where he would go if the hounds came on. The hounds indeedhad dropped behind him, for the men could not believe that the Deercould have leaped the pole under the bridge, and had taken them to tryfor him somewhere else. But the old black and tan hound had tried towalk along the pole to wind it before they came up, and having falleninto the water and been swept on past the bridge, was still tryingdownward by himself. And thus it was that while the Deer was lying inthe water the old hound came up alone. He seemed to have made up hismind that the Stag was near, for he stopped and kept sniffing roundhim in all directions till at last he crept in under the bank, caughtsight of him, and threw his head into the air with a loud triumphantbay. The Stag leaped to his feet in an instant and dashed at him, butthe old hound shrank back and saved himself; and then the Stag brokeout of the water, for he had made up his mind to breast the hill, andpush on for Bremridge Wood. He knew the way, for it was that which thePartridge had shown him, and he felt that by a great effort he couldreach it.
And as he slanted painfully up the steep ascent he heard the old houndstill baying with disappointment and rage; for he could not scrambleup the steep bank so quickly as the Deer, and the more he bayed thefurther he was left behind. Further up the valley the Stag could hearthe horn and hallooing of men, but he pressed on bravely and gainedthe top of the hill at last. But when he reached it his neck wasbowed, his tongue was parched, and his legs staggered under him. Stillhe struggled on. He was in the enclosed country now, but he knew everyfield and every rack, and he scrambled over the banks and hurledhimself over the gates as pluckily as if he had but just been roused.Thus at last he reached the familiar wood. A Jay flew screaming beforehim as he entered it, but he heeded her not. His head was beginning toswim, but he still knew the densest quarter of the covert and made hisway to it. The brambles clutched at him and the branches tripped himat every step, yet he never paused, but shook them off and wentcrashing and blundering on, till at length with one gigantic leap hehurled himself into the thickest of the underwood and lay fast.
After a time he heard the note of a hound entering the wood, and heknew the voice, but he lay still. Then other hounds came up speakingalso, and he heard them working slowly towards his hiding-place. Butas they drew near the thicket the voices were less numerous, and onlya few hounds seemed to have strength and courage to face it. He caughtthe voice of the black and tan hound speaking fitfully as he camenearer and nearer, and more impatiently as he struggled with thebrambles and binders that barred his way. At last it reached the placefrom which he had leaped into his refuge, and there it fell silent.Still the hound cast on, and from a path far above came the voice ofa man encouraging him, and encouraging other hounds to help him. Butthe Deer lay like a stone, while the hounds tried all round withinonly a few yards of him, when all of a sudden the old hound caught thewind of him and made a bound at him where he lay. The Deer jumped tohis feet and faced him, and the old hound bayed again with triumph,but dared not come within reach. So there they stood for two wholeminutes till the other hounds came up all round him. Then one hound inhis insolence came too near, and in an instant the Deer reared
up, andplunging his antlers deep into his side, fairly pinned him to theground, so that the hound never moved again. Then he broke through therest of them, spurning them wide with horn and hoof, and crashed onthrough the covert towards the valley.
And as he came to the edge of the wood he heard the song of thepeat-stream rise before him, and knew that he had still one refugeleft. Reeling and desperate he scrambled out of the wood and leapeddown into the park at its foot. The Fallow-Deer were not to be seen,for they had heard the cry of the hounds in the wood and had hiddenthemselves in alarm among the trees, but the Stag heard the voice ofthe stream calling to him louder than he had ever heard it, and heheeded nought else. And he ran towards the place where he heard itcall loudest, and found it rushing round a bend, very smoothly andquietly, but very swiftly. At every foot below it seemed to rushfaster, till fifty yards down it struck against a bridge of threearches, through which it raced like a cataract and poured down with athundering roar into a boiling pool beneath.
And the Stag leaped in and set his back against some alders that grewon the opposite bank, choosing his place cunningly where he couldstand but the hounds must swim. Then he clenched his teeth and threwback his head, and dared his enemies to do their worst. And the brownstream washed merrily round him, singing low, but as sweetly as he hadever heard it.
"_Come down with me, come. Oh! merry and free_ _Is the race from the forest away to the sea._ _The pool is before me; I hark to its call_ _And I hasten my speed for the leap o'er the fall._ _The Salmon are waiting impatient below,_ _I feel them spring upward as over I go._ _Come down with me, come; why linger you here?_ _You know me, the friend of the wild Red-Deer._"
Then the voice of the water was broken, for the black and tan houndcame bounding down in advance of the rest over the grass to the water,caught view of the Deer where he stood, and throwing up his head bayedloud and deep and long. And other hounds came hurrying down throughthe wood, speaking quick and short, for they were mad with impatience;and bursting through the fence straight to the black and tan houndthey joined their voices in exultation to his. Then a few, a very few,men came up hastening with what speed they might on their weary,hobbling horses, a man on a white horse leading them, and they addedtheir wild yells to the baying of the hounds, while ever and anon theshrill tones of the horn rose high above them all in short, quick,jubilant notes. Soon some of the hounds grew tired of baying in frontand flew round to the bank behind him, still yelling fiercely inimpotent rage; and the maddening clamour rang far up the valleythrough the sweet, still evening. The Fallow-Deer huddled themselvesclose among the trees, and the pigeons hushed their cooing and flewswift and high in the air from the terror of the sound. But the Stagstood unmoved in the midst of the baying ring, with his noble headthrown back and his chin raised scornfully aloft, in all the prideand majesty of defiance.
But all the while the stream kept pressing him downward inch by inch,very gently but very surely. Once a hound, in his impatience, burstthrough the branches and ran out on the stem of an alder almost on tohis back, so that he was obliged to move down still lower. And therethe stream pressed him still more strongly, though never unkindly, andhe went downward faster than before; and he heard the full voice ofthe torrent, as it thundered over the fall, chanting to him grand andsonorous in a deep tone of command.
"_Nay, tarry no longer; come down, come down_ _To the pool that invites you, still, peaceful, and brown._ _One plunge through the rush of the shivering spray_ _And the dark, solemn eddies shall bear you away_ _From the rustle of bubbles, the hissing of foam,_ _To a haven of rest, and a long, long home._ _Come down with me, come; your refuge is near;_ _I call you, the friend of the wild Red-Deer._"
And he heard it and yielded. The water rose higher, and the strengthof the current grew more urgent about him, till at length the streamlifted him gently off his weary feet and bore him silently down. Fora moment he strove with all his might to stem the smooth, impetuoustide as it swept him on; then he gave himself up to the friendlywaters, and throwing his head high in air in a last defiance, he wentdown swiftly over the fall.
And the wild baying ceased; and he heard nothing but the chorus of thewaters in his ears. Once he struggled to raise his head, and the greatbrown antlers came looming up for a moment through the eddies; but ashe passed down to the deep, still pool beyond the fall, the watercalled to him so kindly that he could not but obey.
"_From my wild forest-cradle, through deep and through shoal,_ _You have followed me far, and have reached to the goal._ _Now the gallop is ended, the chase it is run,_ _The struggle is over, the victory won._ _The fall is o'er-leaped and the rapids are passed,_ _Come rest on my bosom untroubled at last._ _Nay, raise not your head, come, bury it here;_ _No friend like the stream to the wild Red-Deer._"
So the waters closed over the stern, sharp antlers, and he bowed hishead and was at peace.
Then men came and pulled the great still body out of the water; andthey took his head and hung it up in memory of so great a run and sogallant a Stag. But their triumph was only over the empty shell ofhim, for his spirit had gone to the still brown pool. And indeed thestream has received many another wild deer besides him, which, Isuspect, is the reason why ferns, that love the water, take the shapeof stags' horns and of harts' tongues. So there he remains; for he hadfought his fight and run his course; and he asks for nothing betterthan to hear the river sing to him all the day long.
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY
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Transcriber's Note: The original edition did not contain a table ofcontents. A table of contents has been created for this electronicedition. Also, the following corrections were made to the originaltext.
In Chapter III, "got old of a whole hind-leg" was changed to "got holdof a whole hind-leg".
In Chapter VIII, "presently he stopped swiming" was changed to"presently he stopped swimming".
In Chapter IX, a missing quotation mark was added before "Well, yousee", and "The man looked a littlle older" was changed to "The manlooked a little older".
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