“Those are the giants’ seats opposite,” said Joe, pointing across the valley to a set of beautiful great green slopes, like huge ridges and furrows, which went sweeping down into the valley one after another as far as I could see; “and this is the Manger, this great hole in the hill-side, because it lies right under the old Horse’s nose. Come along, let’s get up to him; there he is, you see, right above us.”
So we scrambled down the side of Dragon’s Hill, crossed the road, and then started up a row of steps cut in the turf. I’m sure it must be twice as steep as the hill in Greenwich Park, and I don’t mind confessing that I shouldn’t have liked to look round just at first, and wouldn’t have minded giving myself a help with my hands if I hadn’t been afraid of Joe’s seeing me and laughing. I should think we must have gone up two hundred steps, when all of a sudden Joe stopped just above me, and called out, “Here we are;” and in about four steps I came to a trench cut into the chalk about two feet deep, which ran up the hill-side right ahead of us. The chalk in the trench was all hard and flat, and seemed to have been scraped and brushed up quite lately.
“This is his tail,” said Joe. “Come on; look, they’re scouring him up above; we’re in luck--I thought they’d have done before this; and there’s the Squire too with ’em.”
So I looked up; and there, some way above, I saw a lot of men with shovels, and besoms, and barrows, cleaning away at the trench, which, now that I began to look at it, certainly came out more and more like a horse galloping; and there amongst them, working away as hard as any one, was a person in yellow leather gaiters, who I saw at once must be the Squire, though I had never seen a squire before. I own I had a great prejudice against a country squire when I went down into Berkshire; which was natural enough, you see, because I had never been farther from town than Twickenham (except by boat to Margate), and had belonged to a debating society near Farringdon-market ever since I left school, where we take in three liberal papers, and once a week have as good speaking as they get in the House of Commons. I haven’t been to the debates much lately, myself; but when I was an active member, we used to have a regular go in about once a quarter at the unpaid magistracy. How we did give it them! They were bloated aristocrats, who by the time they were thirty had drunk out all the little brains they ever had, and spent their time in preserving and killing game and foxes at the expense of the farmers, and sending every good man in their villages either to the Bastile (as we called the workhouse), as a pauper, or to the county jail as a poacher.