felt to me as though it might 'ave birds in it, so I picked it up, and I
was just on my way to your 'ouse with it, Mr. Cutts, when you started
arter me."

"Ah!" ses the keeper, "and wot did you run for?"

Bob Pretty tried to laugh. "Becos I thought it was the poachers arter
me," he ses. "It seems ridikilous, don't it?"

"Yes, it does," ses Lewis.

"I thought you'd know me a mile off," ses Mr. Cutts. "I should ha'
thought the smell o' roses would ha' told you I was near."

Bob Pretty scratched 'is 'ead and looked at 'im out of the corner of 'is
eye, but he 'adn't got any answer. Then 'e sat biting his finger-nails
and thinking while the keepers stood argyfying as to who should take 'is
clothes off and go into the pond arter the pheasants. It was a very cold
night and the pond was pretty deep in places, and none of 'em seemed
anxious.

"Make 'im go in for it," ses Lewis, looking at Bob; "'e chucked it in."

"On'y Becos I thought you was poachers," ses Bob. "I'm sorry to 'ave
caused so much trouble."

"Well, you go in and get it out," ses Lewis, who pretty well guessed
who'd 'ave to do it if Bob didn't. "It'll look better for you, too."

"I've got my defence all right," ses Bob Pretty. "I ain't set a foot on