t sort, and I have never had the worst of it
yet. It prevents bloodshed on both sides; for if you haven't no
shooting-iron, there's few Englishmen, poachers or not, who will draw
trigger on you; and as for a bludgeon, it's as likely to be in my hand
as another's after the first half minute."

"Is there much poaching now at Crompton?" inquired Yorke, mechanically.
It would have been plain to any less obtuse observer than his companion
that he no longer gave him his attention.

"Well, no; nothing to be called serious has happened lately; though I
dare say we shall have some scrimmages as the winter comes on; there's
allus a good deal of what I calls hanky-panky work in the fawn season.
Women and children--especially children--will come into the park, under
pretense o' picking up sticks; and they'll put away a new dropped fawn
in their bundles, if they get the chance; and then they take it home, to
be reared until it grows up, and can be sold for venison."

"I should have thought there would have been no market for such a
commodity--that is, in the case of people such as you describe,"
observed Yorke, yawning.

"Market!" echoed the keeper, contemptuously; "there'd be a market
to-morrow morning for the whole herd o' our wild-cattle, if they were
stolen to-night; there'd be a market for a rhinoceros or a halligator,
if we happened to keep 'em, bless 'ee, as easy as for a sucking pig! But
I don't call that poaching--I mean the fawn-stealing. It's the
professionals from the Midland towns as come by tens and twenties at a
time as is our trouble. We generally gets wind of 'em beforehand, and
then out we all goes, and Squire with us--for he dearly loves a
fight--and then there's broken crowns and bloody noses; but, thank God,
there's been no murder done, at least, not in my time, at Crompton. And
that reminds me, Sir, that it's time for me to start on my evening
rounds."

"Well, when you next have any news of such an incursion, Grange, I hope
you will let me make one of your party," said Yorke, good-humoredly. "I
can hit out straight from the shoulder; and perhaps I might get to know
the Squire _that_ way."

"And as likely a road to lead you into his good graces, Sir," said the
keeper, rising, "as any I know. Are you for a walk round the park this
fine evening, Sir?"

"No; not to-night, thank you, Grange. I have got to fill in this sketch
a bit that I took this morning."

"Then, good-night, Sir, for I sha'n't return bef