“Not me,” answered the other. “No dog ever I knawed was worthy to wash his face for un. An’ he’m no more a green-eyed snake than your spaniel, though a good deal more of a gen’leman.” “Us won’t argue it then, for I never knawed any use for cats myself but to plant at the root of a fruit-bearin’ tree,” said Mr. Oldreive, cynically. “An’ I never seed no use for dogs, ’cept to keep gen’lefolks out of mischief,” answered Sage, who was a radical and no sportsman. He puffed, and grew a little red as he spoke. Here, and thus, arose a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand. Noah Sage stumped indoors to his daughter, while ‘Corban’ followed with pensive step and a general air as though one should say, “I forgive, but I can’t forget.” Three days later Mr. Oldreive looked over the wall, and his neighbour saw him, and put a hasty foot on some feathers. “Marnin’, Sage. Look here—what I wants to knaw be, whether your blasted cat have took wan o’ my phaysants, or whether he haven’t?” “Might have, might not, Amos. Better ax un. Here he be.” Green-eyed innocence marked the fat round face of ‘Corban.’ He leapt upon the wall and saluted the breeder of pheasants with open-hearted friendship. “What be onder your heel, neighbour?” “Why—a bit of rabbit’s flax ’twas, I think. My sight ban’t so good as of old nowadays.”. “Rabbit’s flax! ’Tis a phaysant’s feathers! Get away, you hookem-snivey Judas, or I’ll hit ’e over the chops!” This last threat concerned ‘Corban,’ who was rubbing his whiskers against Mr. Oldreive’s waistcoat. The ancient Sage puffed out his cheeks and grew as red as a rose. “Ban’t the way to speak to any respectable, well-thought-upon domestic animal, an’ you knaw it, Amos.” “Domestic!” echoed Mr. Oldreive, bitterly. “About so domestic as a auld red fox I sent off wi’ a flea in his ear two nights since. Domestic! He pretends to be to gain his private ends. Just a savage, cruel, awnself {119} beast of prey, an’ no better. Can’t shutt foxes, ’cause they’m the backbone of England; but I can shutt cats an’—an’—” “Stop theer!” roared the other ancient. He trembled with passion; his under jaw chattered; he lifted his legs up and down and cracked the joints of his fingers. “To think I’ve knawed ’e all these years an’ never seed through to the devilish nature of ’e! ’Tis sporting as makes men all the same—no better’n heathen savages.” The other kept calm before this shattering criticism. “Whether or no, I doan’t breed these here phaysants for fun, nor yet for your cat’s eatin’. No call to quarrel, I should hope. But keep un his own side the wall if you please, else he’s like to have an onrestful time. I give ’e fair warning.” “Perhaps you’d wish for me to chain un up?” “Might be better—for him if you did.”