a discreet silence.

'That little vixen's took a chicken,' said Abel, after a time; 'that's
the second.'

'She only does it when I'm away, being clemmed,' said Hazel pleadingly.

'Well, if she does it again,' Abel announced, 'it's the water and a
stone round her neck. So now you know.'

'You durstn't.'

'We'll see if I durst.'

Hazel fled in tears to the unrepentant and dignified Foxy. Some of us
find it hard enough to be dignified when we have done right; but Foxy
could be dignified when she had done wrong, and the more wrong, the
more dignity.

She was very bland, and there was a look of deep content--digestive
content, a state bordering on the mystic's trance--in her affectionate
topaz eyes.

It had been a tender and nourishing chicken; the hours she had spent in
gnawing through her rope had been well repaid.

'Oh! you darlin' wicked little thing!' wailed Hazel. 'You munna do it,
Foxy, or he'll drown you dead. What for did you do it, Foxy, my dear?'

Foxy's eyes became more eloquent and more liquid.