village gardens, till the watchmaker and the lawyer, with Tip, were
ready for their customary walk.

When the water was low and anglers seldom visited the inn, Bob, during
the summer week-days, followed Joker's course of action, and attached
himself to a bathing party frequenting a pool below the ruined garden on
the outskirts of the village. There, like Joker, he searched beneath the
alder-roots, but without success as far as an otter was concerned.
However, he vastly enjoyed himself digging out the brown rats from their
holes along the bank not far from a rick-yard belonging to the inn, and
then hunting them about the pool with as much noise and bustle as if he
were close at the tail of a rabbit in the furze. He was so fond of the
water that he became a rapid, untiring swimmer; and the boys trained
him, in intervals of rat-hunting, to dive to the bottom of the river
and pick up a white pebble thrown from the bank. Like Joker, also, he
gained a name for pluck and ability; and one night the village
sportsmen, at an informal meeting in the "private room" of the inn,
decided to hunt in the river on Wednesday evenings, with Bob and Joker
at the head of a pack including nearly every game-dog in the near
neighbourhood, except certain aristocratic pointers and setters likely
to be spoiled by companionship with yelping and excited curs.

A merrier hunting party was never in the world. They would foregather in
the meadow below the ruined garden: the landlord, whose home-brewed ale
was the best and strongest on the countryside; the curate, whose stern
admonitions were the terror of evil-doers; the farmer, whose skill in
ferreting was greater than in ploughing; the watchmaker, whose clocks
filled the village street with music when, simultaneously, they struck
the hour; the draper, whose white pigeons cooed and fluttered on the
bridge near his shop; the solicitor, whose law was for a time thrown to
the winds; and a small crowd of boys ready to assist, if required, in
"chaining" the fords. There they would "cry" the dogs across the stream
till the valley echoed and re-echoed with shouts and laughter.

The first hunt was started in spirited fashion; the men walked along the
bank thrusting their sticks into crevices and holes; but only Joker and
Bob entered the water, and rats and otters for a while remained
discreetly out of view. Near a bend of the stream, however, Bob
surprised a rat secreted by a stone, and, forcing it to rush