a steep slope leading to the sands and the sea. Now I knew what the
sea was, for after Tom had shot me in the back I lived by it for a long
while, and once swam across a little creek to get to my form, from which
it cut me off.

While I ran down that slope fast as my aching legs would carry me, I
made up my mind that I would swim out into the sea and drown there,
since it is better to drown than to be torn to pieces. "But why are you
laughing, friend Mahatma."

"I am not laughing," I said. "In this state, without a body, I have
nothing to laugh with. Still you are right, for you see that I should be
laughing if I could. Your story of the stout lady and the dogs and the
china is very amusing."

"Perhaps, friend, but it did not amuse me. Nothing is amusing when one
is going to be eaten alive."

"Of course it isn't," I answered. "Please forgive me and go on."

"Well, I tumbled down that cliff, followed by some of the dogs and Tom
and the girl Ella and the huntsman Jerry on foot, and dragged myself
across the sands till I came to the lip of the sea."

Just here there was a boat and by it stood Giles the keeper. He had come
there to get out of the way of the hunting, which he hated as much as he
did the coursing. The sight of him settled me--into the sea I went. The
dogs wanted to follow me, but Jerry called and whipped them off.

"I won't have them caught in the current and drowned," he said. "Let the