168 TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING 
middle of the field, since ‘it doocedly talked now 
an’ t'an’ when he passed on the windward side. — 
‘Foxes’ heads, I shouldn’t wonder,’ replied the i 
keeper, with cold-blooded promptness and a grin./ 
The shepherd thought he was joking, till he climbe 
up and discovered proof of the keeper’s cryptic hint 
—to the tune of about two dozen foxes’ heads. The 
keeper explained that whenever he happened ona 
dead fox he cut off its head, ‘just in case.’ 
I have known many employers who never went 
into mourning if they thought there was one fox 
fewer, and still more keepers who could bear with 
dry eyes the news of a fox’s passing hence. The 
keeper who exclaims, when a fox has turned up its 
brush, ‘That’s a bad job,’ uses those words for the 
sake of politeness, in the same way that people say, 
‘I am sorry you must be going.’ Were all keepers 
to destroy all the foxes they could there would 
be no foxes, which is equally as true as that some 
districts would be over-run with foxes if some 
keepers did not suppress some foxes. I do not 
believe at all in trying to disguise the facts about 
foxes—everlasting bones of strife between all sorts 
of people who otherwise might live in peace and 
quietness. But, lest I give a wrong impression, 
I will state at once that never did J kill a fox in all 
my game-keeping days. I do not say that I did 
not often feel like obliterating every fox within a 
hundred miles. But I did not do it, not altogether 
