"Killed 'em or wounded 'em, like enough," assented Jones, "and it would be a good riddance of such varmint, as his worship says, miss. And a misfortin it is that they be _not_ known. Which is an odd thing to my mind, sir, considering the lightness o' the night: and I'd like to find out whether them there keepers did their duty, or didn't do it." "I can't see the dog anywhere, father," interrupted Tod, dashing in at this moment in a white heat, for he had been racing about in search of Don. "What, is the dog off?" exclaimed old Jones. "Yes, he is," said Tod. "And if those poachers have stolen him, I'll try and get them hanged." Leaving us to our commotion, Katrine Barbary passed on to the nursery with Lena, where the lessons were taken. This straying away of Don made one of the small calamities of the day. Giles, put to the torture of confession, admitted that he remembered unchaining Don the past night as usual, but could not remember whether or not he locked the gate. Of course the probability was that he left it wide open, Mack having found it so in the morning. So that Mr. Don, finding himself at liberty, might have gone out promenading as early in the night as he pleased. Giles was ready to hang himself with vexation. The dog was a valuable animal; a prize for any tramp or poacher, for he could be sold at a high price. We turned out on our different quests; old Jones after the poachers, I and Tod after Don: and the morning wore on. Katrine went home at midday. This news of the night encounter between the keepers and the poachers had thrown her into a state of anxious pain--though of course the reader fully understands that I am, so far, writing of what I knew nothing about until later. That her father and Edgar Reste had been the poachers of the past night she could not doubt, and a dread of the discovery which might ensue lay upon her with a sick fear. The Standishes might have been included in the party; more than likely they were; Ben Gibbon also. Mr. Jim Standish had contrived to let Katrine believe that they were all birds of a feather, tarred with the same brush. But how could Edgar Reste have allowed himself to be drawn into it even for one night? She could not understand that. Entering Caramel Cottage by its side gate, Katrine found Joan seated in the kitchen, slicing kidney beans for dinner. Her father was in his favourite den, the gun-room, Mr. Reste was out. When she left in the morning, neither of them had quitted his respective chamber, an entirely unusual thing. "How late you are with those beans, Joan!" listlessly observed Katrine. "The master sent me to the Silver Bear for a bottle of the best brandy, and it hindered me," explained Joan. "They were having a fine noise together when I got back," she added, dropping her voice. "Who were?" quickly cried Katrine.