e ship is picked up, and he believed the story, so he coaxed the dog,
patted him until he got the chance of a fair hold, then put his arms
round the poor beast, and pitched it overboard.

The story was told everywhere by the other smacks-men, and the children
used to cry, "Who drowned the dog?" whenever the doer of this wicked
act appeared in the street. The fellow who drowned the dog was certainly
close by when the brig touched, but beyond this we know nothing that
could prove a crime. In the morning, when a troop of fishermen walked
along the beach to see if anything could be picked up, they found Mary
sitting on the sand beside the dead body of a man. The dead sailor's
head was bruised, and his waistcoat had been torn open. A rat-catcher
who had crossed the moor said that he saw the man who drowned the dog
skulking up the hollow from the place where the corpse lay, but no one
brought any definite accusation, for, after all, the bruise on the head
might have been caused by a blow on a stone. Still the suspected man had
a bad life after this occurrence. Mary lost her senses completely, but
she recognized him always, and whenever she saw him she crooked her
fingers like the claws of a cat, and showed her teeth. Why she did so
could only be guessed: perhaps she had seen more than the rat-catcher,
but she never said anything.

The fellow who had earned this suspicion stayed in the village until one
memorable winter night, when some youths waylaid him as he came sneaking
off the moor with his lurcher. They put a lantern under a sheet and
waited till their scouts told them that the victim was near. As soon as
he had passed the marsh that borders the waste, the practical jokers
pushed up a pole with the lantern on top, and with the sheet over the
lantern. The poacher lay down on his face and shouted for mercy. He
never came into the village after this, but went to an inland town and
lived by his old mysterious industry. No crime worse than poaching was
ever brought home to him, and, as he left the seafaring life, the
unpleasant memory of him soon died away. Mad Mary wandered the
countryside for a long time: some kind people wanted to put her in an
asylum, because they feared she might get drowned as she walked the
shore where the unhappy little brig went to pieces. But she was never
put under restraint, and her innocent life passed amid kindness and
pity.

THE RABBIT-CATCHER.

I had the fancy to walk out one wint