"But I want first to know what poaching is, because papa says that nice old woman Kirsty may have been poaching, and that is the reason why the keeper dislikes her so much," said Blanche eagerly, as she joined Major Seton.
"Ah! I see. You want to know what poaching is, and you reserve the right of deciding whether it is right or not. Very proper," said the old gentleman, as he looked kindly at the little eager face. "I'll tell you what game preservers call poaching; but, perhaps, if you were to ask your friend of the uncouth name, she might not give you exactly the same description of the word. You might find her sitting down to sup on a hare, which she caught in the act of dining off her nice trim row of cabbages—some of which she meant for her own dinner, probably, if the hare hadn't thought them good to eat. Perhaps she might invite you to join in her savory supper, and you might be sitting smacking your lips over it. But, suddenly, an official-looking individual might pop his head in at the door with a knowing look, and tapping your friend on the shoulder, say, in a stern voice, 'My good woman, you must come with me; you've been poaching.' And if, in defence, you attempted to explain that the hare was treading down the trim garden, and eating the cabbages when Kirsty caught it, 'Just so, little girl,' the individual would reply; 'I see you're in possession of the facts. This woman is a poacher, and must be committed for trial. My prisoner,' he would say," and the Major finished with a little tap on Blanche's shoulder, which made her start as if the said official were at her elbow.
"So that's what you call poaching?" she said, with a long-drawn breath. "But, Major Seton, how can anybody call it wicked to kill a beast that is destroying one's garden when gentlemen shoot them only for fun on the hills?"
"So it may appear to our philosophical minds, Blanchie; but I doubt whether your papa and his gamekeeper will take quite the same view of the matter. Clifford, your daughter is dead set against the game-laws. I haven't succeeded in making her view poaching in a criminal light. She's a born Radical, I fear. You must take her in hand, and teach her young idea how to shoot in a proper Conservative direction," said the pleasant old gentleman as he rolled away, but his love for truth brought his portly figure rolling back again the next minute. "I say, Blanchie, dear, I'm afraid my parable was decidedly one-sided. Remember that poachers are often no better than common thieves—stealing a gentleman's game as they might steal his watch or his umbrella, if they had the chance. So don't go romancing in your tender heart over the wrongs of poachers, little woman. They are often great rascals, I assure you."
"Well, I only hope papa won't ever put a nice old woman into prison for catching a creature that was spoiling her pretty garden. But do you know, Major Seton," added Blanche, in a confidential tone, "I don't like Dingwall. I think he could be very cruel and unkind. He has got such cruel eyes—not a bit like Morag's. I don't like him at all."
"Why, what a prejudiced little puss it is, to be sure. What ails you at the keeper? Is it a case of the unfortunate typical Doctor Fell, I wonder?" But just then Blanche was summoned to tea, and the reason, if she had one, of her dislike to the keen-eyed keeper was not forthcoming.
[VII.]
MORAG'S VISIT TO KIRSTY, AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT.
