“Peter.”

“Yes, Ancient?”

“Some day—­when that theer old stapil be all rusted away, an’ these old bones is a-restin’ in the churchyard over to Cranbrook, Peter—­you’ll think, sometimes, o’ the very old man as was always so full o’ noos, won’t ’ee, Peter?”

“Surely, Ancient, I shall never forget you,” said I, and sighed.

“An’ now, Peter,” said the old man, extracting a pinch of snuff, “now for the noos—­’bout Black Jarge, it be.”

“What of him, Ancient?” The old man shook his head.

“It took eight on ’em to du it, Peter, an’ now four on ’em’s a-layin’ in their beds, an’ four on ’em’s ‘obblin’ on crutches—­an’ all over a couple o’ rabbits—­though theer be some fules as says they was pa’tridges!”

“Why—­what do you mean?”

“Why, ye see, Peter, Black Jarge be such a gert, strong man (I were much such another when I were young) like; lion, in ’is wrath, ‘e be—­ah!—­a bull bean’t nothin’ to Black Jarge!  An’ they keepers come an’ found ’im under a tree, fast asleep—­like David in the Cave of Adullam, Peter, wi’ a couple o’ rabbits as ‘e’d snared.  An’ when they keepers tried to tak’ ’im, ’e rose up, ‘e did, an’ throwed some on ’em this way an’ some on ’em that way—­’twere like Samson an’ the Philistines; if only ’e’d ‘appened to find the jaw-bone of a ass lyin’ ’andy, ‘e’d ha’ killed ’em all an’ got away, sure as sure.  But it weren’t to be, Peter, no; dead donkeys be scarce nowadays, an’ as for asses’ jaw-bones—­”

“Do you mean that George is taken—­a prisoner?”

The Ancient nodded, and inhaled his pinch of snuff with much evident relish.

“It be gert noos, bean’t it, Peter?”

“What have they done with him?  Where is he, Ancient?” But, before the old man could answer, Simon appeared.

“Ah, Peter!” said he, shaking his head, “the Gaffer’s been tellin’ ye ‘ow they’ve took Jarge for poachin’, I suppose—­”

“Simon!” cried the Ancient, “shut thy mouth, lad hold thy gab an’ give thy poor old feyther a chance—­I be tellin’ ’im so fast as I can!  As I was a-sayin’, Peter like a fur’us lion were Jarge wi’ they keepers—­eight on ’em, Peter—­like dogs, a-growlin’ an’ growlin’, an’ leapin’, and worryin’ all round ’im—­ah!—­like a lion ’e were—­”

“Waitin’ for a chance to use ’is ’right, d’ye see, Peter!” added Simon.

Ancient.  Wi’ ‘is eyes a-rollin’ an’ flamin’, Peter, an’ ’is mane all bristlin’—­

Simon.  Cool as any cucumber, Peter—­

Ancient.  A-roarin’ an’ a-lashin’ of ’is tail—­

Simon.  And sparrin’ for an openin’, Peter, and when ’e sees one —­downin’ ’is man every time—­

Ancient.  Leapin’ in the air, rollin’ in the grass, wi’ they keepers clingin’ to ’im like leeches—­ah! leeches—­

Simon.  And every time they rushed, tap ’ud go ’is “left,” and bang ’ud go ’is “right”—­