M'Turk's lean face had turned pearly white; his mouth, generally half open, was tight shut, and his eyes blazed. They had never seen him like this save once in a sad time of civil war.

`Do you know that that was just as bad as murder?' he said, in a grating voice, as he brushed prickles from his head.

`Well, he didn't hit us,' said Stalky. `I think it was rather a lark. Here, where are you going?'

`I'm going up to the house, if there is one,' said M`Turk, pushing through the hollies. `I am going to tell this Colonel Dabney.'

`Are you crazy? He'll swear it served us jolly well right. He'll report us. It'll be a public lickin'. Oh, Turkey, don't be an ass! Think of us!'

`You fool!' said M`Turk, turning savagely. `D'you suppose I'm thinkin' of us. It's the keeper.'

`He's cracked,' said Beetle miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this was a new Turkey--a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkey--whom they accompanied through a shrubbery on to a lawn, where a white-whiskered old gentleman with a cleek was alternately putting and blaspheming vigorously.

`Are you Colonel Dabney?' M`Turk began in this new creaking voice of his.

`I--I am, and'--his eyes travelled up and down the boy--`who--what the devil d'you want? Ye've been disturbing my pheasants. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye needn't laugh at it. [M`Turk's not too lovely features had twisted themselves into a horrible sneer at the word `pheasant.'] You've been bird's-nesting. You needn't hide your hat. I can see that you belong to the College. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye do! Your name and number at once, sir. Ye want to speak to me--Eh? You saw my notice-boards? 'Must have. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye did! Damnable! Oh, damnable!'

He choked with emotion. M`Turk's heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered a little--two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should he, the offender, be angry?

`Lo-look here, sir. Do--do you shoot foxes? Because, if you don't, your keeper does. We've seen him! I do-don't care what you call us--but it's an awful thing. It's the ruin of good feelin' among neighbours. A ma-man ought to say once and for all how he stands about preservin'. It's worse than murder, because there's no legal remedy.' M`Turk was quoting confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman made noises in his throat.

`Do you know who I am?' he gurgled at last; Stalky and Beetle quaking.

`No, sorr, nor do I care if ye belonged to the Castle itself. Answer me now, as one gentleman to another. Do ye shoot foxes or do ye not?'

And four years before Stalky and Beetle had carefully kicked M`Turk out of his Irish dialect! Assuredly he had gone mad or taken a sunstroke, and as assuredly he would be slain--once by the old gentleman and once by the Head. A public licking for the three was the least they could expect. Yet--if their eyes and ears were to be trusted--the old gentleman had collapsed. It might be a lull before the storm, but--

`I do not.' He was still gurgling.

`Then you must sack your keeper. He's not fit to live in the same county with a God-fearin' fox. An' a vixen, too--at this time o' year!'

`Did ye come up on purpose to tell me this?'