He walked calmly down the yard, and after entombing the
dogs by the grape-arbor, he put four fingers of buckshot in his gun,
rearranged his suspenders, shouldered arms and struck out for the
front gate with a countenance as impassive as that of a graven image.

Mr. Butterwick inquired if there was a target-shooting match over at
the "King of Prussia;" but Brown didn't appear to hear him, and passed
serenely down the street. At half-past eleven Brown came within hail
again, and presently he marched up the yard with three departed cats
and a blue poodle.

[Illustration: THE GARDENER RETREATS]

Mr. Butterwick thought it was extraordinary, and he asked Brown if he
was engaged in gunning for domestic animals in order to settle a bet.
But Brown only coughed a couple of times, closed one eye sagaciously
and began to dig a fresh grave under the arbor. When the last sad
rites were over, he charged his gun as usual, rubbed his nose
thoughtfully with his sleeve, took a drink at the pump and wandered
away.

He had been gone about fifteen minutes, when Mr. Butterwick heard two
shots in quick succession. A minute later he saw Brown coming up the
road with a considerable amount of velocity, pursued by Mr. Potts and
a three-legged dog. Brown kept ahead; and when he had shot through the
gate, he dashed into the house and bolted the door. Then Potts arrived
with his dog, which stood by, looking as if it were very anxious to
lunch upon somebody, while Potts explained to Butterwick that Brown
had shot a leg off of his dog, and that he, Potts, intended to have
satisfaction for the injury, if he had to go to law about it.

When Mr. Butterwick had pacified Potts and sent him away, Mr.
Butterwick sought an interview with Brown:

"Brown, you have been behaving in a most preposterous manner ever
since you came here. I employed you as a gardener, not as a gunner.
You have nearly killed a valuable animal belonging to Mr. Potts; and
I'll thank you to tell me what you mean, and right off, too."

Brown winked again, cleared his throat, pulled up his shirt-collar and
said,

"I was goin' to quit soon as I ketched Potts's dog. He'd a bin
splendid to bury out yer with the others. Lemme tell you how it is:
The best thing to make grape-vines grow is dogs; bury 'em right down
among the roots. Some people prefer grandmothers and their other
relations. But gimme dogs and cats. Soon as I seen them vines of yourn
I said to myself, Them vines wants a