by E. Nesbit
CHAPTER 9. HUNTING THE FOX
It is idle to expect everyone to know everything in the world withoutbeing told. If we had been brought up in the country we should haveknown that it is not done--to hunt the fox in August. But in theLewisham Road the most observing boy does not notice the dates when itis proper to hunt foxes.
And there are some things you cannot bear to think that anybody wouldthink you would do; that is why I wish to say plainly at the verybeginning that none of us would have shot a fox on purpose even to saveour skins. Of course, if a man were at bay in a cave, and had to defendgirls from the simultaneous attack of a herd of savage foxes it would bedifferent. A man is bound to protect girls and take care of them--theycan jolly well take care of themselves really it seems to me--still,this is what Albert's uncle calls one of the 'rules of the game', so weare bound to defend them and fight for them to the death, if needful.Denny knows a quotation which says--
'What dire offence from harmless causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trefoil things.'
He says this means that all great events come from threethings--threefold, like the clover or trefoil, and the causes are alwaysharmless. Trefoil is short for threefold.
There were certainly three things that led up to the adventure which isnow going to be told you. The first was our Indian uncle coming down tothe country to see us. The second was Denny's tooth. The third was onlyour wanting to go hunting; but if you count it in it makes the thingabout the trefoil come right. And all these causes were harmless.
It is a flattering thing to say, and it was not Oswald who said it, butDora. She said she was certain our uncle missed us, and that he felt hecould no longer live without seeing his dear ones (that was us).
Anyway, he came down, without warning, which is one of the few badhabits that excellent Indian man has, and this habit has ended inunpleasantness more than once, as when we played jungles.
However, this time it was all right. He came on rather a dull kind ofday, when no one had thought of anything particularly amusing to do. Sothat, as it happened to be dinner-time and we had just washed our handsand faces, we were all spotlessly clean (com-pared with what we aresometimes, I mean, of course).
We were just sitting down to dinner, and Albert's uncle was justplunging the knife into the hot heart of the steak pudding, when therewas the rumble of wheels, and the station fly stopped at the gardengate. And in the fly, sitting very upright, with his hands on his knees,was our Indian relative so much beloved. He looked very smart, with arose in his buttonhole. How different from what he looked in other dayswhen he helped us to pretend that our currant pudding was a wild boarwe were killing with our forks. Yet, though tidier, his heart still beatkind and true. You should not judge people harshly because their clothesare tidy. He had dinner with us, and then we showed him round the place,and told him everything we thought he would like to hear, and about theTower of Mystery, and he said--
'It makes my blood boil to think of it.'
Noel said he was sorry for that, because everyone else we had told it tohad owned, when we asked them, that it froze their blood.
'Ah,' said the Uncle, 'but in India we learn how to freeze our blood andboil it at the same time.'
In those hot longitudes, perhaps, the blood is always nearboiling-point, which accounts for Indian tempers, though not for thecurry and pepper they eat. But I must not wander; there is no curry atall in this story. About temper I will not say.
Then Uncle let us all go with him to the station when the fly came backfor him; and when we said good-bye he tipped us all half a quid, withoutany insidious distinctions about age or considering whether you were aboy or a girl. Our Indian uncle is a true-born Briton, with no nonsenseabout him.
We cheered him like one man as the train went off, and then we offeredthe fly-driver a shilling to take us back to the four cross-roads, andthe grateful creature did it for nothing because, he said, the gent hadtipped him something like. How scarce is true gratitude! So we cheeredthe driver too for this rare virtue, and then went home to talk aboutwhat we should do with our money. I cannot tell you all that we did withit, because money melts away 'like snow-wreaths in thaw-jean', as Dennysays, and somehow the more you have the more quickly it melts. Weall went into Maidstone, and came back with the most beautiful lot ofbrown-paper parcels, with things inside that supplied long-felt wants.But none of them belongs to this narration, except what Oswald and Dennyclubbed to buy.
This was a pistol, and it took all the money they both had, but whenOswald felt the uncomfortable inside sensation that reminds you who itis and his money that are soon parted he said to himself--
'I don't care. We ought to have a pistol in the house, and one thatwill go off, too--not those rotten flintlocks. Suppose there should beburglars and us totally unarmed?'
We took it in turns to have the pistol, and we decided always topractise with it far from the house, so as not to frighten thegrown-ups, who are always much nervouser about firearms than we are.
It was Denny's idea getting it; and Oswald owns it surprised him, butthe boy was much changed in his character. We got it while the otherswere grubbing at the pastry-cook's in the High Street, and we saidnothing till after tea, though it was hard not to fire at the birds onthe telegraph wires as we came home in the train.
After tea we called a council in the straw-loft, and Oswald said--
'Denny and I have got a secret.'
'I know what it is,' Dicky said contemptibly. 'You've found out thatshop in Maidstone where peppermint rock is four ounces a penny. H. O.and I found it out before you did.'
Oswald said, 'You shut-up. If you don't want to hear the secret you'dbetter bunk. I'm going to administer the secret oath.'
This is a very solemn oath, and only used about real things, and neverfor pretending ones, so Dicky said--
'Oh, all right; go ahead! I thought you were only rotting.'
So they all took the secret oath. Noel made it up long before, when hehad found the first thrush's nest we ever saw in the Blackheath garden:
'I will not tell, I will not reveal, I will not touch, or try to steal; And may I be called a beastly sneak, If this great secret I ever repeat.'
It is a little wrong about the poetry, but it is a very binding promise.They all repeated it, down to H. O.
'Now then,' Dicky said, 'what's up?'
Oswald, in proud silence, drew the pistol from his breast and held itout, and there was a murmur of awful amazement and respect from everyone of the council. The pistol was not loaded, so we let even the girlshave it to look at. And then Dicky said, 'Let's go hunting.'
And we decided that we would. H. O. wanted to go down to the village andget penny horns at the shop for the huntsmen to wind, like in the song,but we thought it would be more modest not to wind horns or anythingnoisy, at any rate not until we had run down our prey. But his talkingof the song made us decide that it was the fox we wanted to hunt. We hadnot been particular which animal we hunted before that.
Oswald let Denny have first go with the pistol, and when we went to bedhe slept with it under his pillow, but not loaded, for fear he shouldhave a nightmare and draw his fell weapon before he was properly awake.
Oswald let Denny have it, because Denny had toothache, and a pistol isconsoling though it does not actually stop the pain of the tooth. Thetoothache got worse, and Albert's uncle looked at it, and said it wasvery loose, and Denny owned he had tried to crack a peach-stone with it.Which accounts. He had creosote and camphor, and went to bed early, withhis tooth tied up in red flannel.
Oswald knows it is right to be very kind when people are ill, and heforbore to wake the sufferer next morning by buzzing a pillow at him, ashe generally does. He got up and went over to shake the invalid, butthe bird had flown and the nest was cold. The pistol was not in the nesteither, but Oswald found it afterwards under the looking-glass on thedressing-table. He had just awakened the others (with a hair-brushbecause they had not got anything
the matter with their teeth), when heheard wheels, and, looking out, beheld Denny and Albert's uncle beingdriven from the door in the farmer's high cart with the red wheels.
We dressed extra quick, so as to get downstairs to the bottom of themystery. And we found a note from Albert's uncle. It was addressed toDora, and said--
'Denny's toothache got him up in the small hours. He's off to thedentist to have it out with him, man to man. Home to dinner.'
Dora said, 'Denny's gone to the dentist.'
'I expect it's a relation,' H. O. said. 'Denny must be short forDentist.'
I suppose he was trying to be funny--he really does try very hard. Hewants to be a clown when he grows up. The others laughed.
'I wonder,' said Dicky, 'whether he'll get a shilling or half-a-crownfor it.'
Oswald had been meditating in gloomy silence, now he cheered up andsaid--
'Of course! I'd forgotten that. He'll get his tooth money, and the drivetoo. So it's quite fair for us to have the fox-hunt while he's gone. Iwas thinking we should have to put it off.'
The others agreed that it would not be unfair.
'We can have another one another time if he wants to,' Oswald said.
We know foxes are hunted in red coats and on horseback--but we couldnot do this--but H. O. had the old red football jersey that was Albert'suncle's when he was at Loretto. He was pleased.
'But I do wish we'd had horns,' he said grievingly. 'I should have likedto wind the horn.'
'We can pretend horns,' Dora said; but he answered, 'I didn't want topretend. I wanted to wind something.'
'Wind your watch,' Dicky said. And that was unkind, because we all knowH. O.'s watch is broken, and when you wind it, it only rattles insidewithout going in the least.
We did not bother to dress up much for the hunting expedition--justcocked hats and lath swords; and we tied a card on to H. O.'s chest with'Moat House Fox-Hunters' on it; and we tied red flannel round all thedogs' necks to show they were fox-hounds. Yet it did not seem to show itplainly; somehow it made them look as if they were not fox-hounds, buttheir own natural breeds--only with sore throats.
Oswald slipped the pistol and a few cartridges into his pocket. He knew,of course, that foxes are not shot; but as he said--
'Who knows whether we may not meet a bear or a crocodile.'
We set off gaily. Across the orchard and through two cornfields, andalong the hedge of another field, and so we got into the wood, througha gap we had happened to make a day or two before, playing 'follow myleader'.
The wood was very quiet and green; the dogs were happy and most busy.Once Pincher started a rabbit. We said, 'View Halloo!' and immediatelystarted in pursuit; but the rabbit went and hid, so that even Pinchercould not find him, and we went on. But we saw no foxes. So at last wemade Dicky be a fox, and chased him down the green rides. A wide walkin a wood is called a ride, even if people never do anything but walk init.
We had only three hounds--Lady, Pincher and Martha--so we joined theglad throng and were being hounds as hard as we could, when we suddenlycame barking round a corner in full chase and stopped short, for wesaw that our fox had stayed his hasty flight. The fox was stooping oversomething reddish that lay beside the path, and he cried--
'I say, look here!' in tones that thrilled us throughout.
Our fox--whom we must now call Dicky, so as not to muddle thenarration--pointed to the reddy thing that the dogs were sniffing at.
'It's a real live fox,' he said. And so it was. At least it wasreal--only it was quite dead--and when Oswald lifted it up its headwas bleeding. It had evidently been shot through the brain and expiredinstantly. Oswald explained this to the girls when they began to cry atthe sight of the poor beast; I do not say he did not feel a bit sorryhimself.
The fox was cold, but its fur was so pretty, and its tail and its littlefeet. Dicky strung the dogs on the leash; they were so much interestedwe thought it was better.
'It does seem horrid to think it'll never see again out of its poorlittle eyes,' Dora said, blowing her nose.
'And never run about through the wood again, lend me your hanky, Dora'said Alice.
'And never be hunted or get into a hen-roost or a trap or anythingexciting, poor little thing,' said Dicky.
The girls began to pick green chestnut leaves to cover up the poor fox'sfatal wound, and Noel began to walk up and down making faces, the wayhe always does when he's making poetry. He cannot make one without theother. It works both ways, which is a comfort.
'What are we going to do now?' H. O. said; 'the huntsman ought to cutoff its tail, I'm quite certain. Only, I've broken the big blade of myknife, and the other never was any good.'
The girls gave H. O. a shove, and even Oswald said, 'Shut up', forsomehow we all felt we did not want to play fox-hunting any more thatday. When his deadly wound was covered the fox hardly looked dead atall.
'Oh, I wish it wasn't true!' Alice said.
Daisy had been crying all the time, and now she said, 'I should like topray God to make it not true.'
But Dora kissed her, and told her that was no good--only she might prayGod to take care of the fox's poor little babies, if it had had any,which I believe she has done ever since.
'If only we could wake up and find it was a horrid dream,' Alice said.
It seems silly that we should have cared so much when we had really setout to hunt foxes with dogs, but it is true. The fox's feet looked sohelpless. And there was a dusty mark on its side that I know would nothave been there if it had been alive and able to wash itself.
Noel now said, 'This is the piece of poetry':
'Here lies poor Reynard who is slain, He will not come to life again. I never will the huntsman's horn Wind since the day that I was born Until the day I die-- For I don't like hunting, and this is why.'
'Let's have a funeral,' said H. O. This pleased everybody, and we gotDora to take off her petticoat to wrap the fox in, so that we couldcarry it to our garden and bury it without bloodying our jackets. Girls'clothes are silly in one way, but I think they are useful too. A boycannot take off more than his jacket and waistcoat in any emergency,or he is at once entirely undressed. But I have known Dora take offtwo petticoats for useful purposes and look just the same outsideafterwards.
We boys took it in turns to carry the fox. It was very heavy. When wegot near the edge of the wood Noel said--
'It would be better to bury it here, where the leaves can talk funeralsongs over its grave for ever, and the other foxes can come and cry ifthey want to.' He dumped the fox down on the moss under a young oak treeas he spoke.
'If Dicky fetched the spade and fork we could bury it here, and then hecould tie up the dogs at the same time.'
'You're sick of carrying it,' Dicky remarked, 'that's what it is.' Buthe went on condition the rest of us boys went too.
While we were gone the girls dragged the fox to the edge of the wood;it was a different edge to the one we went in by--close to a lane--andwhile they waited for the digging or fatigue party to come back, theycollected a lot of moss and green things to make the fox's long homesoft for it to lie in. There are no flowers in the woods in August,which is a pity.
When we got back with the spade and fork we dug a hole to bury the foxin. We did not bring the dogs back, because they were too interested inthe funeral to behave with real, respectable calmness.
The ground was loose and soft and easy to dig when we had scraped awaythe broken bits of sticks and the dead leaves and the wild honeysuckle;Oswald used the fork and Dicky had the spade. Noel made faces andpoetry--he was struck so that morning--and the girls sat stroking theclean parts of the fox's fur till the grave was deep enough. At last itwas; then Daisy threw in the leaves and grass, and Alice and Dora tookthe poor dead fox by his two ends and we helped to put him in thegrave. We could not lower him slowly--he was dropped in, really. Then wecovered the furry body with leaves, and Noel said the Burial Ode he hadmade up. He says this was it, but it sounds bette
r now than it did then,so I think he must have done something to it since:
THE FOX'S BURIAL ODE
'Dear Fox, sleep here, and do not wake, We picked these leaves for yoursake You must not try to rise or move, We give you this with our love.Close by the wood where once you grew Your mourning friends have buriedyou. If you had lived you'd not have been (Been proper friends with us,I mean), But now you're laid upon the shelf, Poor fox, you cannot helpyourself, So, as I say, we are your loving friends--And here your BurialOde, dear Foxy, ends. P. S.--When in the moonlight bright The foxeswander of a night, They'll pass your grave and fondly think of you,Exactly like we mean to always do. So now, dear fox, adieu! Your friendsare few But true To you. Adieu!'
When this had been said we filled in the grave and covered the top ofit with dry leaves and sticks to make it look like the rest of the wood.People might think it was a treasure, and dig it up, if they thoughtthere was anything buried there, and we wished the poor fox to sleepsound and not to be disturbed.
The interring was over. We folded up Dora's bloodstained pink cottonpetticoat, and turned to leave the sad spot.
We had not gone a dozen yards down the lane when we heard footsteps anda whistle behind us, and a scrabbling and whining, and a gentleman withtwo fox-terriers had called a halt just by the place where we had laidlow the 'little red rover'.
The gentleman stood in the lane, but the dogs were digging--we could seetheir tails wagging and see the dust fly. And we SAW WHERE. We ran back.
'Oh, please, do stop your dogs digging there!' Alice said.
The gentleman said 'Why?'
'Because we've just had a funeral, and that's the grave.'
The gentleman whistled, but the fox-terriers were not trained likePincher, who was brought up by Oswald. The gentleman took a stridethrough the hedge gap.
'What have you been burying--pet dicky bird, eh?' said the gentleman,kindly. He had riding breeches and white whiskers.
We did not answer, because now, for the first time, it came over all ofus, in a rush of blushes and uncomfortableness, that burying a fox is asuspicious act. I don't know why we felt this, but we did.
Noel said dreamily--
'We found his murdered body in the wood, And dug a grave by which themourners stood.'
But no one heard him except Oswald, because Alice and Dora and Daisywere all jumping about with the jumps of unrestrained anguish, andsaying, 'Oh, call them off! Do! do!--oh, don't, don't! Don't let themdig.'
Alas! Oswald was, as usual, right. The ground of the grave had not beentrampled down hard enough, and he had said so plainly at the time,but his prudent counsels had been overruled. Now these busy-bodying,meddling, mischief-making fox-terriers (how different from Pincher, whominds his own business unless told otherwise) had scratched away theearth and laid bare the reddish tip of the poor corpse's tail.
We all turned to go without a word, it seemed to be no use staying anylonger.
But in a moment the gentleman with the whiskers had got Noel and Dickyeach by an ear--they were nearest him. H. O. hid in the hedge. Oswald,to whose noble breast sneakishness is, I am thankful to say, a stranger,would have scorned to escape, but he ordered his sisters to bunk in atone of command which made refusal impossible.
'And bunk sharp, too' he added sternly. 'Cut along home.'
So they cut. The white-whiskered gentleman now encouraged his angryfox-terriers, by every means at his command, to continue their vile anddegrading occupation; holding on all the time to the ears of Dicky andNoel, who scorned to ask for mercy. Dicky got purple and Noel got white.It was Oswald who said--
'Don't hang on to them, sir. We won't cut. I give you my word ofhonour.'
'YOUR word of honour,' said the gentleman, in tones for which, inhappier days, when people drew their bright blades and fought duels, Iwould have had his heart's dearest blood. But now Oswald remained calmand polite as ever.
'Yes, on my honour,' he said, and the gentleman dropped the ears ofOswald's brothers at the sound of his firm, unswerving tones. He droppedthe ears and pulled out the body of the fox and held it up.
The dogs jumped up and yelled.
'Now,' he said, 'you talk very big about words of honour. Can you speakthe truth?'
Dickie said, 'If you think we shot it, you're wrong. We know better thanthat.'
The white-whiskered one turned suddenly to H. O. and pulled him out ofthe hedge.
'And what does that mean?' he said, and he was pink with fury to theends of his large ears, as he pointed to the card on H. O.'s breast,which said, 'Moat House Fox-Hunters'.
Then Oswald said, 'We WERE playing at fox-hunting, but we couldn't findanything but a rabbit that hid, so my brother was being the fox; andthen we found the fox shot dead, and I don't know who did it; and wewere sorry for it and we buried it--and that's all.'
'Not quite,' said the riding-breeches gentleman, with what I think youcall a bitter smile, 'not quite. This is my land and I'll have you upfor trespass and damage. Come along now, no nonsense! I'm a magistrateand I'm Master of the Hounds. A vixen, too! What did you shoot herwith? You're too young to have a gun. Sneaked your Father's revolver, Isuppose?'
Oswald thought it was better to be goldenly silent. But it was vain.The Master of the Hounds made him empty his pockets, and there was thepistol and the cartridges.
The magistrate laughed a harsh laugh of successful disagreeableness.
'All right,' said he, 'where's your licence? You come with me. A week ortwo in prison.'
I don't believe now he could have done it, but we all thought then hecould and would, what's more.
So H. O. began to cry, but Noel spoke up. His teeth were chattering yethe spoke up like a man.
He said, 'You don't know us. You've no right not to believe us tillyou've found us out in a lie. We don't tell lies. You ask Albert's uncleif we do.'
'Hold your tongue,' said the White-Whiskered. But Noel's blood was up.
'If you do put us in prison without being sure,' he said, trembling moreand more, 'you are a horrible tyrant like Caligula, and Herod, or Nero,and the Spanish Inquisition, and I will write a poem about it in prison,and people will curse you for ever.'
'Upon my word,' said White Whiskers. 'We'll see about that,' and heturned up the lane with the fox hanging from one hand and Noel's earonce more reposing in the other.
I thought Noel would cry or faint. But he bore up nobly--exactly like anearly Christian martyr.
The rest of us came along too. I carried the spade and Dicky had thefork. H. O. had the card, and Noel had the magistrate. At the end ofthe lane there was Alice. She had bunked home, obeying the orders of herthoughtful brother, but she had bottled back again like a shot, so asnot to be out of the scrape. She is almost worthy to be a boy for somethings.
She spoke to Mr Magistrate and said--
'Where are you taking him?'
The outraged majesty of the magistrate said, 'To prison, you naughtylittle girl.'
Alice said, 'Noel will faint. Somebody once tried to take him to prisonbefore--about a dog. Do please come to our house and see our uncle--atleast he's not--but it's the same thing. We didn't kill the fox, ifthat's what you think--indeed we didn't. Oh, dear, I do wish you'd thinkof your own little boys and girls if you've got any, or else about whenyou were little. You wouldn't be so horrid if you did.'
I don't know which, if either, of these objects the fox-hound masterthought of, but he said--
'Well, lead on,' and he let go Noel's ear and Alice snuggled up to Noeland put her arm round him.
It was a frightened procession, whose cheeks were pale withalarm--except those between white whiskers, and they were red--thatwound in at our gate and into the hall among the old oak furniture, andblack and white marble floor and things.
Dora and Daisy were at the door. The pink petticoat lay on the table,all stained with the gore of the departed. Dora looked at us all, andshe saw that it was serious. She pulled out the big oak chair and said,'Won't you sit
down?' very kindly to the white-whiskered magistrate.
He grunted, but did as she said.
Then he looked about him in a silence that was not comforting, and sodid we. At last he said--
'Come, you didn't try to bolt. Speak the truth, and I'll say no more.'
We said we had.
Then he laid the fox on the table, spreading out the petticoat under it,and he took out a knife and the girls hid their faces. Even Oswald didnot care to look. Wounds in battle are all very well, but it's differentto see a dead fox cut into with a knife.
Next moment the magistrate wiped something on his handkerchief and thenlaid it on the table, and put one of my cartridges beside it. It was thebullet that had killed the fox.
'Look here!' he said. And it was too true. The bullets were the same.
A thrill of despair ran through Oswald. He knows now how a hero feelswhen he is innocently accused of a crime and the judge is putting on theblack cap, and the evidence is convulsive and all human aid is despairedof.
'I can't help it,' he said, 'we didn't kill it, and that's all there isto it.'
The white-whiskered magistrate may have been master of the fox-hounds,but he was not master of his temper, which is more important, I shouldthink, than a lot of beastly dogs.
He said several words which Oswald would never repeat, much less inhis own conversing, and besides that he called us 'obstinate littlebeggars'.
Then suddenly Albert's uncle entered in the midst of a silence freightedwith despairing reflections. The M.F.H. got up and told his tale: it wasmainly lies, or, to be more polite, it was hardly any of it true, thoughI supposed he believed it.
'I am very sorry, sir' said Albert's uncle, looking at the bullets.
'You'll excuse my asking for the children's version?'
'Oh, certainly, sir, certainly,' fuming, the fox-hound magistratereplied.
Then Albert's uncle said, 'Now Oswald, I know I can trust you to speakthe exact truth.'
So Oswald did.
Then the white-whiskered fox-master laid the bullets before Albert'suncle, and I felt this would be a trial to his faith far worse than therack or the thumb-screw in the days of the Armada.
And then Denny came in. He looked at the fox on the table.
'You found it, then?' he said.
The M.F.H. would have spoken but Albert's uncle said, 'One moment,Denny; you've seen this fox before?'
'Rather,' said Denny; 'I--'
But Albert's uncle said, 'Take time. Think before you speak and saythe exact truth. No, don't whisper to Oswald. This boy,' he said tothe injured fox-master, 'has been with me since seven this morning. Histale, whatever it is, will be independent evidence.'
But Denny would not speak, though again and again Albert's uncle toldhim to.
'I can't till I've asked Oswald something,' he said at last. WhiteWhiskers said, 'That looks bad--eh?'
But Oswald said, 'Don't whisper, old chap. Ask me whatever you like, butspeak up.'
So Denny said, 'I can't without breaking the secret oath.'
So then Oswald began to see, and he said, 'Break away for all you'reworth, it's all right.'
And Denny said, drawing relief's deepest breath, 'Well then, Oswaldand I have got a pistol--shares--and I had it last night. And when Icouldn't sleep last night because of the toothache I got up and went outearly this morning. And I took the pistol. And I loaded it just for fun.And down in the wood I heard a whining like a dog, and I went, and therewas the poor fox caught in an iron trap with teeth. And I went to let itout and it bit me--look, here's the place--and the pistol went off andthe fox died, and I am so sorry.'
'But why didn't you tell the others?'
'They weren't awake when I went to the dentist's.'
'But why didn't you tell your uncle if you've been with him all themorning?'
'It was the oath,' H. O. said--
'May I be called a beastly sneak If this great secret I ever repeat.'
White Whiskers actually grinned.
'Well,' he said, 'I see it was an accident, my boy.' Then he turned tous and said--
'I owe you an apology for doubting your word--all of you. I hope it'saccepted.'
We said it was all right and he was to never mind.
But all the same we hated him for it. He tried to make up for hisunbelievingness afterwards by asking Albert's uncle to shoot rabbits;but we did not really forgive him till the day when he sent the fox'sbrush to Alice, mounted in silver with a note about her plucky conductin standing by her brothers.
We got a lecture about not playing with firearms, but no punishment,because our conduct had not been exactly sinful, Albert's uncle said,but merely silly.
The pistol and the cartridges were confiscated.
I hope the house will never be attacked by burglars. When it is,Albert's uncle will only have himself to thank if we are rapidlyoverpowered, because it will be his fault that we shall have to meetthem totally unarmed, and be their almost unresisting prey.