64 The Tetcott Hunt CUeek. 



they say the sun doesn't muve ! No, if you please, 

 'tis the earth that muves ! Passel of old nonsense. 

 The sun not muve, indeed ! Can't I believe my own 

 eyes? Don't I see en muve? Ha'nt I seen en all 

 the days of my life going down behind the Cornish 

 hills, eveling after eveling? Passel of rubbish, that's 

 what 'tis." 



Here he arrived at a point where the road branched 

 off towards his distant home in North Devon, and 

 my father proceeded alone along the highway. He 

 had not gone far, however, before he overtook a 

 butt — as a two-wheel cart is called here — and in it, 

 after close scrutiny, he recognized, by the faint 

 starlight, the very farmer who had been present at 

 the death of both foxes. My father was unable to 

 rouse him, and fearing some accident, dismounted, 

 tied his hunter to a gate, and leading the farmer's 

 horses to a bit of waste ground by the roadside, 

 took them out of the cart, and dismissed them with 

 a crack of his whip to their home, and left the 

 owner in his butt to sleep off his potations. 



A man, up early to visit his lambing ewes, saw 

 him wake, sit up in his cart, scratch his head, and 

 look about him to find out " where 'e waas toJ" He 

 seemed puzzled at finding no horses in front of him. 

 Again he scratched his head, and peered out over 

 the side of the butt to read the name painted on it. 

 He repeated the name aloud to himself, and said, 



