



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Hollowdell Grange, by George Manville Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________
This is one of Fenn's earliest books.  The theme is that a boy from
London goes down to stay in the country with his cousins, where the way
of life is so very different, and challenging, from all that he had
known in the great city.  The descriptions of country life of those days
are very well done, but we must make one warning--that many of the
countrymen we meet in the story speak with a strong Lincolnshire accent,
and the author has done his best to represent these sounds with what
must very often look like mistakes in transcription.

There are all sorts of country situations to be encountered, from
working with animals, to meeting the various village characters, to a
near drowning, and even, at the very end to an attempted rescue, one
that failed, of a drowning boy caught in a sluice on the beach.

There may well be a few mistakes, because the copy used was very old,
and the pages very browned, while at the same time not very well
printed.  But we have done our best and at least what we offer here is
better than what you would have got from the book itself in its aged
condition.  As so often with this kind of book it makes a very good
audio-book, and listening to it is a great pleasure.

________________________________________________________________________
HOLLOWDELL GRANGE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

A FISH OUT OF WATER.

It was such a fine hot Midsummer day at Hollowdell station, that the
porter had grown tired of teasing the truck-driver's dog, and fallen
fast asleep--an example which the dog had tried to follow, but could
not, because there was only one shady spot within the station-gates, and
that had been taken possession of by the porter; so the poor dog had
tried first one place, and then another, but they were all so hot and
stifling, and the flies kept buzzing about him so teasingly, that he
grew quite cross, and barked and snapped so at the tiresome insects,
that at last he woke Jem Barnes, the porter, who got up, stretched
himself, yawned very rudely and loudly, and then, looking in at the
station-clock, he saw that the 2:30 train from London was nearly due, so
he made up his mind not to go to sleep again until it had passed.

It _was_ a hot day--so hot that the great black tarpaulins over the
goods-waggons were quite soft, and came off all black upon Jem Barnes's
hands.  The air down the road seemed to quiver and dance over the white
chalky dust; while all the leaves upon the trees, and the grass in the
meadows, drooped beneath the heat of the sun.  As to the river, it shone
like a band of silver as it wound in and out, and here and there; and
when you looked you could see the reflection of the great dragon-flies
as they flitted and raced about over the glassy surface.  The reeds on
the bank were quite motionless; while, out in the middle, the fat old
chub could be seen basking in the sunshine, wagging their great broad
fantails in the sluggish stream, too lazy even to snap up the flies that
passed over their heads.  All along the shallows the roach and dace lay
in shoals, flashing about, every now and then, in the transparent water
like gleams of silver light.  Down in the meadows, where the ponds were,
and the shady trees grew, the cows were so hot that they stood up to
their knees in the muddy water, chewing their grass with half-shut eyes,
and whisking their long tails about to keep the flies at a distance.
But it was of no use to whisk, for every now and then a nasty, spiteful,
hungry fly would get on some poor cow's back, creep beneath the hair,
and force its horny trunk into the skin so sharply, that the poor animal
would burst out into a doleful lowing, and, sticking its tail up, go
galloping and plunging through the meadow in such a clumsy way as only a
cow can display.  A few fields off the grass was being cut, and the
sharp scythes of the mowers went tearing through the tall, rich, green
crop, and laid it low in long rows as the men, with their regular
strokes, went down the long meadows.  Every now and then, too, they
would make the wood-side re-echo with the musical ringing sound of the
scythes, as the gritty rubbers glided over the keen edges of the bright
tools.

Hot, hot, hot!--how the sun glowed in the bright blue sky! and how the
down train puffed and panted, while the heat of the weather made even
the steam from the funnel transparent as it streamed backwards over the
engine's green back!  The driver and stoker were melting, for they had
the great roaring fire of the engine just in front of them, and the sun
scorching their backs; the guard was hot with stopping at so many
stations, and putting out so much luggage; while the passengers, in the
carriages said they were almost stifled, and looked out with longing
eyes at the shady green woods they passed.  One passenger in particular,
a sharp-featured and rather sallow youth about twelve years old, kept
looking at the time-table, and wondering how long it would be before he
arrived at Hollowdell, for that was the name printed upon the ticket
Fred Morris held in his hand.

But just at this time there were other people travelling towards
Hollowdell station, and that too by the long dusty chalky road that came
through the woods and over the wooden bridge right up to the railway
crossing; and these people were no others than Fred Morris's country
cousins, and the old man-servant--half groom, half gardener--who was
driving the pony chaise with Harry Inglis by his side, while Fred's
other cousin Philip was cantering along upon his donkey close behind--
such a donkey! with thin legs, and a thin tail that he kept closely
tucked in between the hind pair, as if he was afraid the crupper would
pull it off.  He wanted no beating, although he could be obstinate
enough when he liked, and refuse to pass the green paddock where he
grazed; but he wanted no beating, while with his young master on his
back: he would trot off with his little hoofs going pitter-patter,
twinkle-twinkle over the road, at a rate that it used to puzzle old
Dumpling, the fat pony, to keep up with.

Harry and Philip Inglis were rather different-looking boys to their
cousin, for, stouter in build, they bore upon their good-tempered faces
the brown marks made by many a summer's sun.  And now, upon this
occasion, they were all impatience to get to the station to meet Cousin
Fred, who was coming down to spend the Midsummer holidays.  The visit
had been long talked about, and now the boys were in a state of the
greatest excitement lest any disappointment might take place.

"Oh! do drive faster, Sam," said Harry, making a snatch at the reins; "I
know he'll be there first.  Tiresome old thing, you!  Why didn't you
start an hour sooner?"

"What for?" said Sam, grumbling, and holding tightly to the reins; "what
was I to come an hour sooner for?  Think I don't know how long it takes
to drive over to station?"

"But," said Philip, from his donkey, "I'm sure we shall be late.
There!" he continued, "I can hear the train now!"

"Nonsense!" said Sam.  "Where's the steam?  Why, you can see the steam
for two miles before the train gets in, and Dumps here could get in long
before the train."

But Philip was right, for just then the loud and shrill whistle of the
engine was heard as it started again, after setting down one solitary
little passenger in the shape of Fred Morris, who looked sadly
disappointed to find no one there to receive him but Jem Barnes, the
porter, who stared very hard at the young stranger from Lunnun.

Dumpling galloped, and Neddy went off at a double trot, upon hearing the
railway-whistle, spinning along at such a rate that before Fred Morris
had learned which path he was to take across the fields to go the
shortest way to Squire Inglis's, of the Grange, Hollowdell--and all of
which information he was getting very slowly out of Jem Barnes--Harry
had jumped out of the chaise.  Philip leaped off his donkey, and they
were one on each side of Fred, heartily shaking hands with him.

"I say, ain't you our cousin?" said Harry, breathlessly.

"Our cousin from London, you know," said Philip, "that was to come by
this train?"

"My name is Morris," said the traveller, rather pompously, "and I'm
going on a visit to Mr Inglis's at Hollowdell."

"Yes, to be sure!" said Harry.  "You're Cousin Fred, and I'm Harry, and
that's Phil.  Come along into the chaise.  Here Sam--Jem! bring the box
and let's be off.  But I say, Fred, isn't it hot?"

Fred replied that it was, seeming hardly to know what to make of the
rough, hearty manners of his cousins, and he looked, if anything, rather
disappointed when he was met by the rough grin of Sam, who was of
anything but a smooth exterior, and altogether a very different man to
his father's well-brushed livery-servant, who had seen him safely off to
the station in the morning.

"I've come," said Fred at last, when they were fairly started with
Philip and Fred in the chaise, and Harry this time upon the donkey
bringing up the rear--"I've come because Papa said you would not like it
if I did not; but I'd much rather you had both come up to me in London.
One can find something to do there, and there's something to see.  I
can't think how you people manage to live down here."

"Oh! we find something to do, don't we, Harry?" said Philip, laughing.
But Harry was very busy with Neddy, who had taken it into his head to go
down a lane which led to the pound--a place where he had been more than
once locked up; and it was as much as ever the lad could do to stop him;
so Philip's question remained unanswered.  "I say," continued Philip at
last, after