Jakin, whose official, if not natural function, of frightening the birds, was just now at a standstill. Maggie felt sure that Bob was wicked, without very distinctly knowing why: unless it was because Bob's mother was a dreadfully large fat woman, who lived at a queer round house down the river, and once, when Maggie and Tom had wandered thither there rushed out a brindled dog that wouldn't stop barking, and when Bob's mother came out after it, and screamed above the barking to tell them not to be frightened, Maggie though she was scolding them fiercely and her heart beat with terror. Maggie thought it very likely that the round house had snakes on the floor, and bats in the bedroom; for she had seen Bob take off his cap to show Tom a little snake that was inside it, and another time he had a handful of young bats: altogether, he was an irregular character, perhaps even slightly diabolical, judging from his intimacy with snakes and bats; and to crown all, when Tom had Bob for a companion he didn't mind about Maggie, and would never let her go with him.

It must be owned that Tom was fond of Bob's company. How could it be otherwise? Bob knew, directly he saw a bird's egg, whether it was a swallow's or a tomtit's or a yellowhammer's; he found out all the wasps' nests and could set all sorts of traps; he could climb the trees like a squirrel, and had quite a magical power of detecting hedge-hogs and stoats; and he had courage to do things that were rather naughty, such as making gaps in the hedge-rows, throwing stones after sheep, and killing a cat that was wandering incognito. Such qualities in an inferior who could always be treated with authority in spite of his superior knowingness, had necessarily a fatal fascination for Tom; and every holiday-time Maggie was sure to have days of grief because he had gone off with Bob.

Well! there was no hope for it: he was gone now, and Maggie could think of no comfort but to sit down by the holly or wander by the hedgerow, and fancy it was all different, refashioning her little world into just what she should like it to be.

Maggie's was a troublous life, and this was the form in which she took her opium.

Meanwhile Tom, forgetting all about Maggie and the sting of reproach which he had left in her heart, was hurrying along with Bob whom he had met accidentally, to the scene of a great rat-catching in a neighbouring barn. Bob knew all about this particular affair, and spoke of the sport with an enthusiasm which no one, who is not either divested of all manly feeling or pitiably ignorant 'of rat-catching, can fail to imagine. For a person suspected of preternatural wickedness, Bob was really not so very villainous- looking; there was even something agreeable in his snub-nosed face with its close-curled border of red hair. But then his trousers were always rolled up at the knee for the convenience of wading on the slightest notice, and his virtue, supposing it to exist, was undeniably `virtue in rags' which, on the authority even of bilious philosophers, who think all well-dressed merit overpaid, is notoriously likely to remain'recognised (perhaps because it is seen so seldom).

`I know the chap as owns the ferrets,' said Bob in a hoarse treble voice, as he shuffled along, keeping his blue eyes fixed on the river, like an amphibious animal who foresaw occasion for darting in. `He lives up the Kennel Yard at Sut Ogg's - he does. He's the biggest rot-catcher anywhere - he is. I'd sooner be a rot-catcher nor anything - I would. The moles is nothing to the rots. But Lors! you mun ha' ferrets. Dogs is no good. Why, there's that dog, now,' Bob continued, pointing with an air of disgust towards Yap, `he's no more good wi' a rot nor nothin'. I see it myself - I did - at the rot-catchin' i' your feyther's barn.'

Yap, feeling the withering influence of this scorn, tucked his tail in and shrank close to Tom's leg, who felt a little hurt for him, but had not the superhuman courage to seem behindhand with Bob in contempt for a dog who made so poor a figure.

`No, no,' he said, `Yap's no good at sport. I'll have reg-ular good dogs for rats and everything, when I've done school.'

`Hev ferrets, Measter Tom,' said Bob, eagerly, `them white ferrets wi' pink eyes - Lors, you might catch your own rots, an' you might put a rot in a cage wi' a ferret, an'see 'em fight - you might. That's what I'd do, I know. An'it 'ud be better fun a'most nor seein' two chaps fight - if it wasn't them chaps as sell