there was a lot of poaching afoot and pheasants going, and a dead bird or
two picked up, as had escaped the malefactors, but died after and been
found. So when Parsloe stopped Mr. Meadows and said as he'd got something
to report, the old man hoped he might have a line to help against the
enemy. One or two law-abiding men, Wade among 'em, had been aiding the
keepers by night, and the police had also lent a hand; but as yet nobody
was laid by the heels, nor even suspected. So it looked like stranger men
from down Plymouth way; and the subject was getting on John Meadows'
nerves, because his master, a great sportsman who poured out a lot of
money on his pheasants, didn't like it and was grumbling a good bit.

Then William Parsloe told his tale:

"I was along the Woodman's Path last night working up to the covers," he
said, "and beside Hound's Pool I fell in with a hugeous great dog. 'Twas a
moony night and I couldn't be mistook. 'Twas no common dog I knowed, but
black as sin and near so large as a calf. He didn't make no noise, but
come like a blot of ink down to the pool and put his nose down to drink,
and in another moment I'd have shot the creature, but he scented me, and
then he saw me, as I made to lift my gun, and was off like a streak of
lightning."

John Meadows stared and then he showed a good bit of satisfaction.

"Ah!" he said. "I'm glad as it is one of the younger people seed it, and
not me, or some other old man; because now 'twill be believed. Hound's
Pool, you say?"

Parsloe nodded and Harry Wade asked a question. He was a tall, handsome
chap tanned by the foreign sun where he'd lived and worked too.

"What of it, master?" he said.

"This of it," answered Meadows. "Bill Parsloe have seen the Hound and no
less. And the Hound ain't no mortal dog at all, but he was once a mortal
man and the tale be old history now, yet none the less true for that. My
father, as worked here before me, saw him thrice, and his highest good
came to him after; and Benny Price, a woodman, saw him once ten year ago,
and good likewise came to him, for Mrs. Price ran away with a baker's
apprentice at Buckfastleigh and was never heard of again. And since you've
seen the Hound, Parsloe, I hope good will come to you."

Neither of t'other men had heard the tale and Harry Wade was very
interested, because he minded that, when a nipper, his mother had told him
something about it. And Parsloe, who was pretty well educated and a very