298 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



also escaped the indignity of being caught alive. The 

 sow and two other cubs come to light fighting. The 

 last one breaks out and makes a bid for life, running 

 off backwards almost as fast as the dogs can go 

 forwards. But they catch him and pin him. He 

 turns in his skin with consummate ease, and cleanly 

 nips a piece from the rough-haired one's shoulder, 

 marring his dandy beauty for life. But the last of 

 our brocks is slain, leaving, now that we think of 

 it too late, a sad gap in the fauna of the farm. 

 The master of the brake says little, but perhaps 

 thinks hard. The hunters think he should be consoled 

 for any injured sentiment by the honour of having 

 provided the record of five grown badgers drawn from 

 one hole. 



