WHAT WAS IT ? 65: 



"Now John," said my father, in parting, 

 "Sit down 'till you hear the dog coming, 

 and mind you don't rise up 'till he gets near 

 enough for you to make sure of killing him. If 

 you are too eager he'll wind you, but if you let 

 him get near enough for a dead shot, it don't 

 matter whether he winds you or not ; stops, 

 goes forward, or turns back." 



"All right, father," said I. "I'll manage 

 it, I'll be sure to kill him, never fear." 



" I'm not afraid but what you will," said father. 

 " But if you don't keep down close, he'll be 

 sure to wind you, and I'd rather have that dog 

 than all the poachers, so don't you miss this 

 chance." 



I may mention that there is nothing so 

 trying to a keeper as a poacher's dog, it seems 

 to be imbued with more than the cunning 

 of its masters, and the instinct seems more 

 trustworthy than their reasoning powers. It 

 is always distrustful of strangers and, in fact, 

 everybody except its masters, and enters at 

 once into the keen delight of the lawless 

 deeds of the latter; at the same time it is 



c 



