"He was a younger and more ramblier dog. He never settled nowhere. The last I heerd of him, he had joined a pack of harriers (a trencher pack) at Luton. He was kinder master of them, frequently collecting the whole pack and going a-hunting with them by hisself. He was allers wonderful fond of sport. I mind one time when a lot of boys had bolted a hotter just above the mill, and was a-hunting him with all manner of dogs, Old Lal happened to come along with his waggon. The whole team bolted down to the water's edge, and just at that moment the hotter gave them a view. The hue-gaze[7] was too much for Rocket. He plunged in, taking with him the waggon and the other two hounds. Poor Old Lal bobbed up and down like a fishing-float, always keeping his head up, though before he could be poked out he was as nigh drownded as possible. And this is what makes me think Rocket was the instigator of the poor old man's death. He must have caught a view of a fox, perhaps, or, at any rate, have crossed a line of scent, and bolted off the road and up through the wood, and after they had throwed the poor old man, continued the chase till the waggon got hung fast to a tree and tied them all up." "Was there any wound or fracture about poor Old Lal's body which might have caused his death?" "None whatever; no mark, no sign of violence which could have caused his death. They do say he is often heerd 'ollering for help o' nights since he has been buried. There's a-many people won't go through the Pine Bottom after dark to save their lives." CHAPTER VI. Commercial-room--The bagman's tale--Yes--Strange company. When driving the coaches in the olden time, it frequently happened that I remained for the night at the stage from which I should take the coach back on the following day. On one of these occasions I accidentally spent the evening in the commercial-room at ----. I say "accidentally," because in all provincial hotels the bagman's room is considered sacred to commercial travellers, and I have been informed by landlords that any intrusion upon them would prove dangerous to the house's popularity. I had dined early, and, unaware of the trespass, happened to look into a long, dreary, deserted room, with "Coffee-room" written upon the door; a stale number of "The Illustrated News" and a well-thumbed Post Office Directory upon the table; a very bad fire, and altogether the air of a methodist meeting-house on a weekday. I turned to another room, in which were three or four gentlemen, who appeared to be surrounded by every comfort; coats, hats, wrappers, hung in clusters against the wall, and a cheerful fire.