“Afeard o’ poachers!” exclaimed the woodman, with a laugh. “Bless ye, Mrs. Whittle, poachers bain’t no worse nor other folks! Dalled if I can see much harm in a man catchin’ a rabbit or two when there’s such a-many of ’em about! The place be fair swarmin’ wi’ ’em o’ nights.” Betty was much shocked; and returned reprovingly that it couldn’t ever be right to steal. “And poachin’ is but stealin’,” she summed up severely. “Stealin’!” echoed Dick; “nay, ye’ll never make me believe that. I d’ ’low the Lard did make they little wild things for the poor so well as for the rich. Pheasants, now,” he continued, ruminating, “I won’t say as any one has a right to take pheasants except the man what owns the woods. I’d as soon rob a hen-roost, for my part, as go arter one o’ they fat tame things as mid be chicken for all the spirit what’s in ’em. I’d never ax to interfere wi’ a pheasant,” he continued reflectively, “wi’out it was jist for the fun o’ the thing. But settin’ a gin or two--wi’ all these hundreds and thousands o’ rabbits runnin’ under a body’s feet--ye’ll never make me think there’s a bit o’ harm in it.” “Don’t let my husband hear such talk!” said Betty loftily. The woodman laughed again. “I wouldn’t mind speakin’ out plain to his face,” said he. “Him and me is the best o’ friends--I do like en very well,” continued Dick handsomely; “better nor I ever thought to like a gamekeeper. As a rule, I don’t hold with folks what goes spyin’ about, a-tryin’ to catch other folks in the wrong. I never could a-bear a policeman, now--’tis my belief they do more harm than good.” “Gracious!” ejaculated the scandalised Betty. “I don’t know how you can go for to say such things.” “Well, d’ye see, ’tis this way,” explained Dick. “If a man do want for to get drunk, drunk he’ll get if there be farty policemen arter him. If he’s willin’ to make a beast of hisself, and to ruin his wife and family, and to get out o’ work an’ everything, for the sake of a drap o’ drink, ’tisn’t a policeman that ’ull stop him. And if a chap do want to fight another chap--his blood being up, d’ye see--he’ll fight en--ah, that he will! and give no thought at all to the chance o’ bein’ run in for it. And jist same way--if a body has a notion to trap a rabbit, trap it he will, keeper or no keeper.” Here Dick selected a sapling and began to trim it leisurely, pursing up his lips the while in a silent whistle. “I’ll not tell Whittle all you’ve said,” remarked Betty with dignity, as she shifted her baby from one arm to the other, and prepared to walk on. “He mid think you was a poacher yourself.”