in the hind legs so that he rolled over and over in the turnips, kicking
and screaming. Have you ever heard a hare scream, Mahatma?"

"Yes, yes, it makes a horrid noise like a baby."

"Wiped your eye that time, Dad," cried Tom in an exultant voice.

"I don't know about wiping my eye," answered his father, turning quite
purple with rage, "but I wish you would be good enough, Thomas, not to
shoot my hares behind, so that they make that beastly row which upsets
me" (I think that the Red-faced Man was really kind at the bottom) "and
spoils them for the market. If you can't hit a hare in front, miss it
like a gentleman."

"As you do, Dad," said Tom, sniggering again. "All right, I'll try."

"Giles," roared Grampus, pretending not to hear, "send your dog and
fetch that hare. I can't bear its screeching."

So that great black dog rushed forward and caught my poor father in its
big mouth, although he tried to drag himself away on his front paws, and
after that I shut my eyes.

Then a lot of partridges got up and there was any amount of banging,
though most of them were missed. This made the Red-faced Man angrier
than ever. He took off his hat and waved it, bellowing--

"Call back that brute of a dog of yours, Giles. Call it back at once or
I'll shoot it."