"There's an old pollard, Squire, about five yards away down near the
fence, which is hollow and handy," said Giles.

"Quite so," he answered, "I know it well. Do you bring the--dog, Giles.
Remember, it was a dog, not a fox."

Then they went to the pollard, and as Giles's hand was hurt the
Red-faced Man climbed up it, though Giles tried to prevent him.

"Now then, Giles," he said, "give me the fox--I mean the dog, and I will
drop it down. Great Heavens! how this tree stinks. Has there been an
earth here?"

"Not as I knows of, Squire," said Giles sullenly.

Grampus stretched his hand down into the hollow of the pollard and
dragged up a rotting fox by its tail.

"Giles," he said, "you have been killing more foxes and hiding them in
this tree. Giles, I dismiss you at once and without a month's wages."

"All right, sir," said Giles, "I'll go, and I prays you'll find some one
what will keep your hares which you must have, and your pheasants which
you must have, and your partridges which you must have, without killing
these varmints of foxes what eats the lot."

The Red-faced Man descended from the tree holding his nose and looked at
Giles. Giles sucked his bleeding hand and looked at him.

"Foxes are very destructive animals," said the Red-faced Man to Giles,