think he must have done something to it since:

THE FOX'S BURIAL ODE

"Dear Fox, sleep here, and do not wake.
We picked these leaves for your sake.
You must not try to rise or move,
We give you this grave with our love.
Close by the wood where once you grew
Your mourning friends have buried you.
If you had lived you'd not have been
(Been proper friends with us, I mean),
But now you're laid upon the shelf,
Poor fox, you cannot help yourself,
So, as I say, we are your loving friends
And here your Burial Ode, dear Foxy, ends.
_P.S._--When in the moonlight bright
The foxes wander of a night,
They'll pass your grave and fondly think of you,
Exactly like we mean to always do.
So now, dear fox, adieu!
Your friends are few
But true
To you.
Adieu!"

When this had been said we filled in the grave and covered the top of it
with dry leaves and sticks to make it look like the rest of the wood.
People might think it was treasure, and dig it up, if they thought there
was anything buried there, and we wished the poor fox to sleep sound and
not to be disturbed.

The interring was over. We folded up Dora's blood-stained pink cotton
petticoat, and turned to leave the sad spot.

We had not gone a dozen yards down the lane when we heard footsteps and
a whistle behind us, and a scrabbling and whining, and a gentleman with
two fox-terriers had called a halt just by the place where we had laid
low the "little red rover."

The gentleman stood in the lane, but the dogs were digging--we could see
their tails wagging and see the dust fly. And we _saw where_. We ran
back.

"Oh, please, do stop your dogs digging there!" Alice said.

The gentleman said "Why?"

"Because we've just had a funeral, and that's the grave."

The gentleman whistled, but the fox-terriers were not trained like
Pincher, who was brought up by Oswald. The gentleman took a stride
through the hedge gap.

"What have you been burying--a pet dicky bird, eh?" said the gentleman,
kindly. He had riding breeches and white whiskers.

We did not answer, because now, for the first time, it came over all of
us, in a rush of blushes and uncomfortableness, that burying a fox is a
suspicious act. I don't know why we felt this, but we did.

Noel said, dreamily:

"We found his murdered body in the wood,
And dug a grave by which the mourners stood."

But no one heard him excep