think I’d rather groom a horse than a lady, for I got well bit—if you will excuse me, Sir.”
“And you deserved it—no doubt.”
“I got it—an’ I wish you better luck, Sir. One’s more a man here in th’ wood, though, than in my lady’s parlour, it strikes me.”
“A lady’s parlour! “laughed Leslie, indulgent in his amusement at the facetious keeper.
“Oh, yes! ‘Will you walk into my parlour——’ ”
“You’re very smart for a keeper.”
“Oh, yes Sir—I was once a lady’s man. But I’d rather watch th’ rabbits an’ th’ birds; an’ it’s easier breeding brats in th’ Kennels than in th’ town.”
“They are yours, are they?” said I.
“You know ’em, do you. Sir? Aren’t they a lovely little litter?—aren’t they a pretty bag o’ ferrets?—natural as weasels—that’s what I said they should be—bred up like a bunch o’ young foxes, to run as they would.”
Emily had joined Lettie, and they kept aloof from the man they instinctively hated.
“They’ll get nicely trapped, one of these days,”said I.
“They’re natural—they can fend for themselves like wild beasts do,” he replied, grinning.
“You are not doing your duty, it strikes me,” put in Leslie sententiously.
The man laughed.
“Duties of parents!—tell me, I’ve need of it. I’ve nine—that is eight, and one not far off. She breeds well, the ow’d lass—one every two years—nine in fourteen years—done well, hasn’t she?”
