“Dear me!” said the Red-faced Man softening, “dear me, the beast does seem to have bitten you very badly.  You must go and be cauterised with a red-hot iron.  It is painful but the best thing to do.  Meanwhile, suck it, Giles, suck it!  I daresay that will draw out the poison, and if it doesn’t, thank my stars!  I am insured.  Look here, a minute or two can make no difference, for if you are poisoned, you are poisoned.  Where can we put this brute?  I wouldn’t have it seen for ten pounds.”

“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, “especially when one shoots and keeps harriers.”

“They are that, sir,” said Giles to the Red-faced Man, “as only those know what has to do with them.”

“Put the other in, Giles,” said the Red-faced man, “and when you have time, throw some soil on to the top of the lot.  This place smells horrible.  And look you here, Giles,” he added in a voice of thunder, “if ever I find you killing a fox upon this property, you will be dismissed at once, as I have often told you before.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Squire, I understand,” answered Giles, “and I’ll see to the burying of them this same afternoon, if the pain in my hand will suffer it.”

“Very well,” said the Red-faced Man, “that’s done with—­except the cubs.  As you have killed the vixen you had better stink the cubs out of the earth.  I daresay they are old enough to look after themselves—­at any rate I hope so.  And now, Giles, we must shoot some of these hares when we begin on the partridges next week.  There are too many of them, the tenants are complaining, ungrateful beggars as they are, seeing that I keep them for their sport.”