As he spoke a figure crawled out from a corner. No word had he spoken either before or since Malherb's arrival, but now this singular man approached, pulled his hair, and addressed the new power. He looked almost a dwarf, but his head was of normal size, and his expression betokened character. The labourer had seen sixty years. He was quite bald and as wrinkled as an old russet apple. His costume differed much from that of the company, for it seemed that he was chiefly clad in the pelts of vermin. A martin's skin furnished his cap, and at its side glimmered the sky-blue wing-feathers of a jay; his coat was green corduroy, but his waistcoat was made of moleskins, and he had a white one on each side for the pocket-lappet. "I be Leaman Cloberry, coney-catcher an' mole-catcher," he said. "No man can teel a trap like me." "I shan't want a coney-catcher," declared Malherb. "Not regular, not regular; but off an' on, when the varmints get too free. There's other things, too. There's grays--or badgers, as you'd call 'em; there's pole-cats, an' martin-cats, an' hawks, an' owls, not to name foxes." "Foxes?" said Malherb, frowning. "Plenty of 'em; an' I gets six-an'-eightpence for a fox. You'll always find 'em hanging up on the yew tree in the churchyard, so that all the parish on its way to worship 'pon Sundays may see I earn my money." "Kill foxes?" "All varmints, your honour--from a hoop[*] to a hedge-pig." [*] _Hoop_: A bullfinch. "The man who kills foxes will never earn a shilling from me," thundered Malherb. "Out of my sight, you old miscreant! Kill foxes! What is Tyrwhitt about? I'd hang you to the church yew yourself if I had my way. Honest foxes to be killed by a clown!" Leaman Cloberry regarded the angry settler without flinching. "If you're that sort, your people be likely to have uneasy dreams," he said. "As to foxes, there'll be plenty for you an' the likes of you to run after on horseback--no need to fear that. I've killed but ten dogs an' two vixens in cub this year. I lay you'll meet more foxes around your hen-roosts up-along than you'll find time to hunt. Then you'll be sorry you growed so fiery against me." "Get you gone, you mouldy rascal! Go to your vermin and foul the air no more." The mole-catcher smiled and put on his hat. "I'll go," he said, "since you be too great a man to breathe alongside of me. Good evening to your honour; an' my duty to you." Then he made his exit, singing: "A ha'penny for a rook; A penny for a jay; A noble for a fox; An' twelvepence for a gray!" It was the tariff of his trade, and he sang the words aloud at all seasons and in all company. Nobody spoke after Malherb's explosion; but a moment afterwards he grew calm again, finished his liquor, and prepared to depart. "Come with your papers on Monday week to Tor Royal. And now drink success to Fox Tor Farm, and when next you hear of Maurice Malherb, remember that the devil is not so black as he is painted."