must just tuck you away in the hollow tree before old Grampus sneaks
round and sees you, for if he should it will be almost as much as my
place is worth."

Next he set his foot on the trap and, opening it, took hold of the fox
by the fore-legs to carry it off. The cat and the owl he stuffed away
into a great pocket in his coat.

"Jemima! don't you wholly stink," he said, then gave a most awful yell.

The fox wasn't quite dead after all, it was only shamming dead. At any
rate it got Giles' hand in its mouth and made its teeth meet through the
flesh.

Now the keeper began to jump about just as the fox had done when it
set its paw in the trap, shouting and saying all sorts of things that
somehow I don't think I ought to repeat here. Round and round he
went with the fox hanging to his hand, like hares do when they dance
together, for he couldn't get it off anyhow. At last he tumbled down
into a pool of mud and water, and when he got up again all wet through I
saw that the fox was really dead. But it had died biting, and now I know
that this pleased it very much.

It was just then that the man whom the keeper had called Grampus came
up. He was a big, fat man with a very red face, who made a kind of
blowing noise when he walked fast. I know now that he was the lord of
all the other men about that place, that he lived in the house which
looked over the sea, and that the boy and girl who put me in with the
yellow-toothed rabbit were his children. He was what the farmers called
"a first-rate all-round sportsman," which means, my friend--but what is