He closed his eyes and for some moments he did not speak. At length, however, he looked at Jim once more, and his lips moved. “Parson do say God be werry merciful,” he whispered. “Maybe He’ll understand why I done it. But I don’t care if He send I into hell fire, now I know you’re happy. Tell me, sir, what be you going to do?”
“I’m going away, Smiley,” replied Jim. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. We are going to find a little house overlooking the Mediterranean, and in the years to come, when all this is forgotten, we shall come back here, perhaps, and get the place ready for my son. You’d like my son, Smiley: he’s a fine little lad.”
The poacher nodded. “When you come back here,” he said, “go down into the woods and whistle to me the same as you used to do. I shall hear. I shall say: ‘There’s my dear a-calling of me. Friends sticks to friends through thick and thin.’ And maybe they’ll let me answer you....”
His voice trailed off, but his lips smiled. “Oh, them little rabbits,” he chuckled.
THE END