THE END OF POACHER BOB. 83 



his brains ; so Mr. Fuller let the case against 

 him stand over and Jones did not go to goal. 

 This Bob was a big, rough, wiry, coarse-coated 

 dog, — a cross between a blood hound and a 

 sheep-dog, with the true voice of a hound. 1 

 do not know, for certain, his real breed, but 1 

 do know that he was the cleverest poacher I 

 ever met. 



Jones never did any poaching after this, and 

 his wife repeatedly told me that she was glad 1 

 caught him ; it was the best day's work that 

 ever happened to him, she said, for he used to 

 waste his time in poaching, and would then go 

 to the public house and spend all the money 

 he had earned by it, imd a shilling or two 

 beyond. " Easy come, easy go," and it did 

 not end there, for he used to get drunk and was 

 fit for nothing the next day, so he must needs 

 go and have another quart, the next morning, 

 to liven up yesterday's beer. This, again, 

 very often led to a third day's drunk, and then 

 the three days had to have a livening up on the 

 fourth morning. Three or four day's loss of 

 work at four shillings a day, two shillings a 



