"If I'd been you, I'd ha' stopped away altogether," said the keeper, "and not come back here, where nobody wants you." "Pity you weren't me. Six months' hard would have done you good once more." "When I get six months' imprisonment, it won't be for night poaching, but for putting a charge of shot in you, you lunging hound. And don't you let that tongue of yours wag so fast, young man. I'm not ashamed of it. Everyone knows I did a bit of poaching when I was a young fool, and did my bit in quod for that trouble with the keepers. But they know too that, when I came out, and the captain's father come to me and said, `Drop it, my lad, and be an honest man,' I said I would, and served him faithful; so shut your mouth before I do it with the stock of my gun." "All right, mate, don't be waxey. Look here:--s'pose I turn honest too." "You!" said the keeper, scornfully. "Yes, me; and marry Judy." "That'll do," cried the keeper sharply. "No it won't, we're old sweethearts--Judy and me." "That'll do, I say. Now, cut." "When I like," said the man, with a sneer. "Better let me marry her; the captain won't." The keeper caught him by the throat. "Will you keep that cursed tongue still!" "No, I won't," cried the young man fiercely, and with a savage look in his eyes. "I know, even if I have been away. I know all about it. But I'm in that little flutter, Ben Hayle." "Curse you! hold your tongue, will you," roared the keeper; and the dogs began to bark fiercely as he forced the young poacher back against a tree, but only to release him, as a quick sharp voice, called to the dogs, which dashed up to the new-comer, leaping to be caressed. "Hallo! what's up? You here again?" Captain Robert Rolph, of The Warren, and of Her Majesty's 20th Dragoon Guards, a well-set-up, athletic-looking fellow, scowled at the poacher, and the colour came a little into his cheeks. "Oh yes, I'm back again, master." "Then take my advice, sir; go away again to somewhere at a distance." The young man gave him a sidelong glance, and laughed unpleasantly. "Look here, Caleb Kent: you're a smart-looking fellow. Go up to Trafalgar Square. You'll find one of our sergeants there. Take the shilling, and they'll make a man of you. You'll be in my regiment, and I'll stand your friend." "Thankye for nothing, captain. 'List so as to be out of your way, eh? Not such a fool." "Oh, very well then, only look out, sir. I'll see that Sir John Day doesn't let you off so easily next time you're in trouble." "Ketch me first," said the young man; and giving the pair an ugly, unpleasant look, he walked away. "Not me," he muttered. "I haven't done yet; wait a bit." "No good, sir," said the keeper, looking after the young poacher till he was out of sight. "Bad blood, sir; bad blood." "Yes, I'm afraid so. Morning, Hayle. Er--Miss Hayle quite well?"