"Why, what the dickens is she about?" said the doctor. "Why--ha-ha-ha! But it isn't a bad dodge after all." For as he watched, he could see that Aunt Sophia was busy at work with an implement evidently of her own invention. She had a handkerchief tied over her head and beneath her chin, to keep her cap from blowing off or falling forward when she stooped, and in her hands a pair of the light lancewood wands used in playing the game of "Les Graces;" but they were firmly bound to a large pair of old scissors, turning them as it were into very long-handled shears. With these she poked and rustled about among the plants till she routed out some good fat slug, which she instantly scissored in three pieces, and then closing the shears, used their point to rake a little hole in the ground near the foot of the plant and bury the slug therein. "That's not a bad plan, Miss Raleigh," said the doctor as the lady looked up sharply. "The slug has fattened himself upon the tender leaves of the plant and grown to his present size; now you offer him up as a sacrifice, and bury him where he will fertilise the plant in return." "Of course," said Aunt Sophia shortly. "You would not leave the nasty slimy thing on the top, would you?" "Certainly not," said the doctor. "And besides, you give the plant back, about those wonderful imbibers--its roots--the concentrated essence of all that it has lost, in the shape of slug." "Is this meant for a joke, Doctor Scales?" "Not in the least, my dear madam. By the way, though, our friend Mr Arthur Prayle would give us a lecture on cruelty, if he saw us rejoicing over the death of our molluscous enemies here." "Mr Arthur Prayle had better mind his accounts," said the lady shortly; "he knows nothing about gardening." "No; I do not think he does," said the doctor, as the old lady routed out another slug, cut it in three, and buried it viciously--just as if she were operating on Arthur Prayle. "It seems to amuse you," said Aunt Sophia. "Amuse me? Well, it does look rather droll," replied the doctor; "but it can't be pleasant for the slugs." "Then the slugs had better emigrate," said Aunt Sophia sharply. "I don't want to see my poor nephew's garden go to rack and ruin." Doctor Scales went off as Aunt Sophia resumed her task, and, as was often his habit, began to work out a discourse upon what he had seen. Starting with the text, "Is it cruel to kill slugs," and it was somewhat after this fashion that he mused: "Is it cruel to kill slugs? Just stand with upraised foot before one of those slimy, moist, elongated bags of concentrated cabbage, cauliflower, choice plant, and tender cucumber, and answer that question if you can.