He was a tall man with sandy whiskers and a rough voice, and he
carried a single-barrelled gun under his arm.
You see, now that I am dead I know the use of these things, just as I
understand all that was said, though of course at the time it had no
meaning for me. Still I find that I have forgotten nothing, not one word
from the beginning of my life to the end.
The keeper, who was on his way to the place where he nailed the
creatures he did not like by dozens upon poles, looked down and saw the
fox. "Oh! my beauty," he said, "so I have got you at last. Don't you
think yourself clever trying to bite off that leg. You'd have done it
too, only I came along just in time. Well, good night, old girl, you
won't have no more of my pheasants."
Then he lifted the gun. There was a most dreadful noise and the fox
rolled over and lay still.
"There you are, all neat and tidy, my dear," said the keeper. "Now I
must just tuck you away in the hollow tree before old Grampus sneaks
round and sees you, for if he should it will be almost as much as my
place is worth."
Next he set his foot on the trap and, opening it, took hold of the fox
by the fore-legs to carry it off. The cat and the owl he stuffed away
into a great pocket in his coat.
"Jemima! don't you wholly stink," he said, then gave a most awful yell.
The fox wasn't quite dead after all, it was only shamming dead. At any
rate it got Giles' hand in its mouth and made its teeth meet through the
flesh.
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