after a day at Dartmouth, owls called along the road from just behind
the hedge, whenever the road curved. Hugh and I remembered the
pheasants that day in the wood, and we nudged each other in the
darkness, wondering whether Mr Gorsuch was one of the owls. After that
night we used to practise the call of the owls and the pheasants, but
we were only clever at the owl's cry: the pheasant's call really needs
a man's voice, it is too deep a note for any boy to imitate well; but
we could cry like the owls after some little practice, and we were
very vain when we made an owl in the wood reply to us. Once, at the
end of February, we gave the owl's cry outside the "Adventure Inn,"
where the road dips from Strete to the sands, and a man ran out to the
door and looked up and down, and whistled a strange little tune, or
scrap of a tune, evidently expecting an answer; but that frightened
us; we made him no answer, and presently he went in muttering. He was
puzzled, no doubt, for he came out again a minute later and again
whistled his tune, though very quietly. We learned the scrap of tune
and practised it together whenever we were sure that no one was near
us.

As for the two men taken by the troops, they were let off. The
innkeeper at South Poole swore that both men had been in his inn all
the night of the storm playing the "ring-quoits" game with the other
guests and as his oath was supported by half-a-dozen witnesses, the
case for the King fell through; the night-riders never scrupled to
commit perjury. Later on I learned a good deal about how the
night-riders managed things.

During that rainy March, while the brook was in flood all over the
valley, Hugh and I had a splendid time sailing toy boats, made out of
boxes and pieces of plank. We had one big ship made out of a long