on opened the conversation by speaking of the pretty fawn. She
pricked her ears, and to my amazement, they stood up like those of a
rabbit. Such a weird, out-of-the-way head I never saw, though the dog
looked a nice, well-trained greyhound when she had her ears laid back.

I said, "Why, she's a lurcher."

"She ain't all greyhound; but the best man as ever I knew always said
there never was a prick-eared one a bad 'un."

"Is she for sale?"

"There ain't enough money to buy her."

"She's so very good?"

"Never was one like her!"

I found out, when we became fast friends, that the man's statement was
quite correct. The dog's intelligence was supernatural. For the benefit
of innocents who do not know what poaching is like, I will give an idea
of this one dog's depredations. The owner--the Consumptive, I call him,
as his night work has damaged his lungs--grew very friendly one day, and
confidential. He winked and remarked, "Now, how many do you think I've
had this month?"

"How many what?"

"You know. Rabbits. Guess."

I tried, and failed. The Consumptive whispered, "Well, I keeps count,
just the same as a shopkeeper, and as true as I'm a living man I've
taken two hundred and fifty out of that park, and averaged tenpence for
'em."

"With the one bitch?"

"No. I've got a pup from her--such a pup. The old 'un's taught the baby,
and I swear I'll never let that pup come out in daylight. They work
together, and nothing can get away."

This astounding statement was true to the letter. The dogs were like
imps for cunning; they would hide skilfully at the very sound of a
strange footstep, and they would retrieve for miles if necessary. I may
say that I have seen them at work, and I earnestly wish that Frank
Buckland could have been there.

The Consumptive is a dissolute, drunken fellow, whose life is certainly
not noble. Fancy being maintained in idleness by a couple of dogs! But
the park is there, and the man cannot help stealing. I have seen his
puppy, and I wish the royal duke could see her. She is a cross between
lurcher and greyhound; her cunning head resembles that of a terrier, and
her long, slim limbs are hard as steel. Her precious owner spends his
days in tippling; he never reads, and, I fancy, never thinks; he goes
forth at dusk, and his faithful dogs proceed to work for his livelihood.

The Consumptive is, as I have said, a man of great resource; but he has
for once been within a hair's breadth of dis