does my best, but what's
a man to do with a couple o' thousand foxes nippin' the heads off of his
birds? Fairly breaks my heart, Sir. Keep 'em alive, indeed! Live and let
live's my motter, but it ain't the plan o' them blamed foxes.

[_And so forth ad lib._

There are other animals which your true keeper holds in aversion. And chief
amongst these is the domestic cat. You might as well try to keep a
journalist from his writing-paper as country cats from the coverts. They
are inveterate and determined poachers, and, alas, they meet with scant
mercy from the keeper if he catches them. Many a fireside tabby or
tortoise-shell dies a violent death in the course of every year, and is
buried in a secret grave. This often gives rise to disturbance, for the
cottager, to whom the deceased was as the apple of her eye, may make
complaint of the keeper to his master. My friend SYKES, one of the best
keepers I know, once related to me an incident of this nature. As it may
help to explain the nature of keepers, and throw light on the
conversational method to be adopted with them, I here set down the winged
words in which SYKES addressed me.

[Illustration: "Taking away his Character."]

"Trouble, Sir? I believe you. Them old women gives me a peck o' trouble,
far more nor the breakin' of a retriever dog. There's old Mrs. PADSTOW,
Mother PADDS we call 'er, she's a rare old teaser. Went up to Mr. CHALMERS
last week and told 'im I'd shot 'er pet cat. Mr. CHALMERS, 'e spoke to me
about it; said I'd better go and make it right with the old gal. So,
yesterday I goes to call upon 'er. First we passed the time o' day
together, and then we got to business. You see, Sir, me and the old lady
had always been friendly, so I took it on the friendly line. 'Look 'ere,' I
says, 'Mrs. PADSTOW, I've come about a cat.' 'Ah,' she says. 'It's just
this way,' I says, 'Mr. CHALMERS tells me you said I'd shot your cat. Now,'
I says, straightenin' myself up and lookin' proud, 'I couldn't scarcely
believe that, and you and me such good friends, so I've just come to ask
you if you did say that. She was a bit took aback at this, so I asked 'er
again. 'Well,' she says, 'I didn't exactly say that.' 'What did you say
then?' I asked her. 'I told Mr. CHALMERS,' she says, 'that our old cat 'ad
been shot what never did no 'arm, and I thought it might be as you'd a done
it, p'raps not meanin' it.' 'Ah,' I says, 'them was your words, was they?'
'Yes,' she says, 'the