"No I didn't;—but I knows who did. It ain't I as am afeard for my young turkeys." Now it was well known that old Mrs. Twentyman, Larry's mother, was fond of young turkeys, and that her poultry-yard had suffered. Larry, in his determination to be a gentleman, had always laughed at his mother's losses. But now to be accused in this way was terrible to his feelings! He made a rush as though to jump over the hedge, but Lord Rufford again intercepted him. "I didn't think, Mr. Twentyman, that you'd care for what such a fellow as that might say." By this time Lord Rufford was off his horse, and had taken hold of Larry.
"I'll tell you all what it is," screamed Goarly, standing just at the edge of his own field,—"if a hound comes out of the wood on to my land, I'll shoot him. I don't know nothing about p'isoning, though I dare say Mr. Twentyman does. But if a hound comes on my land, I'll shoot him,—open, before you all." There was, however, no danger of such a threat being executed on this day, as of course no hound would be allowed to go into Dillsborough Wood.
Twentyman was reluctantly brought back into the meadow where the horses were standing, and then a consultation was held as to what they should do next. There were some who thought that the hounds should be taken home for the day. It was as though some special friend of the U. R. U. had died that morning, and that the spirits of the sportsmen were too dejected for their sport. Others, with prudent foresight, suggested that the hounds might run back from some distant covert to Dillsborough, and that there should be no hunting till the wood had been thoroughly searched. But the strangers, especially those who had hired horses, would not hear of this; and after considerable delay it was arranged that the hounds should be trotted off as quickly as possible to Impington Gorse, which was on the other side of Impington Park, and fully five miles distant. And so they started, leaving the dead fox in the hands of Bean the gamekeeper.
"Is this the sort of thing that occurs every day?" asked the Senator as he got back into the carriage.
"I should fancy not," answered Morton. "Somebody has poisoned a fox, and I don't think that that is very often done about here."
"Why did he poison him?"
"To save his fowls I suppose."
"Why shouldn't he poison him if the fox takes his fowls? Fowls are better than foxes."
"Not in this country," said Morton.
"Then I'm very glad I don't live here," said Mr. Gotobed. "These friends of yours are dressed very nicely and look very well,—but a fox is a nasty animal. It was that man standing up on the bank;—wasn't it?" continued the Senator, who was determined to understand it all to the very bottom, in reference to certain lectures which he intended to give on his return to the States,—and perhaps also in the old country before he left it.