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Long may that day be in coming when the sound of the horn is no longer heard in this delightful country! High up on the hill the old White Horse soon appears in view, cut in the velvety turf of the rolling chalk downs. But, in the words of the old ballad, "The ould White Horse wants zettin' to rights." He wants "scouring" badly.
Tha wants us to go 'ome, why doezn't tha go 'ome thysen? Tha's a wife a zettin' oop there, an' m'appen she's waitin' with as fine a zermon as iver was preached from a temperance cart in a wasterne field!" He laughed again; Arbroath turned his back upon him in disgust, and strode up to the shadowed corner where Helmsley sat watching the little scene.
Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less persevering, came up and stood beside him. "The gipsy bogle zets on that stone," he said. "What gipsy bogie?" "Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e once. 'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked in father's 'ead. 'E plays the viddle."
The ancient balladist thus quaintly describes the festivity on these memorable occasions: "The owld White Harse wants zettin to rights, and the squire hev promised good cheer, Zo we'll gee un a scrape to kip un in zhape, and a'll last for many a year. A was made a lang, lang time ago, wi a good dale o' labor and pains.
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