Welsh Journals

Nick to the farm, for back he would be in a day, now that he had overcome the geographical difficulties of the locality. Besides, Bevan had eaten the fowls and the eggs. The little cloud was distinctly above the horizon. Early next day Bevan took the dog to another distant farm, selecting the south quarter of the valley this time he trusted that Nick would take more kindly to a southern aspect facing the blue sea and the soft breezes. This other farmer again readily gave a couple of fowls and a few eggs in exchange for the expert poacher. Bevan hushed the voice of conscience by accepting a dozen fewer eggs in this second barter, for one cannot altogether ignore the moral law. Bevan tipped it as it were; he had done the same thing with other policemen, and they had held their peace. A month elapsed without anything happening the terrier had either lost his homing instinct or had become reconciled to his new home, and Bevan was very glad. On the following Saturday a terrific dog-fight was in progress before the butcher's shop Nick had come back, and had sprung at a big lurcher dog under the mistaken impression that this was the villain that had ousted him from his master's loving heart. Bevan's feelings were not quite so mixed on this occasion he was now really afraid of the con- sequences. What was he to do ? Nick had ex- hausted the possibilites of the valley, because every road led to the butcher's shop. On the other hand Bevan's liabilities in fowls and eggs had grown alarmingly. Of course he could shoot the dog and so avert the disaster that threatened him but then again shooting Nick was something like fratricide, and if he could get something for it-. Suddenly the way opened out before his eyes why not sell him this time to one of the game-keepers that were thirsting for his blood? He at once entered into negotiations with a tall Scotsman who, curiously enough, paid the ten shillings fixed as the price without any trouble. Bevan knew instinctively what Nick's fate would be. and, as he left the keeper's house, he fancied he could hear the shot that had sealed his fate. Poor old Nick perhaps it was better so the two farmers would never get to know. Bevan felt as if a load had been lifted away from his chest. But the game-keeper's ways are unfathomable Nick had not been shot; he was now being trained in the business of catching rabbits,within the meaning of the act. But after a month or two of clean, honest living, Nick grew tired of the shackles of respect- ability he missed that element of danger so dear to the poacher. Whatever the reason may have been, there arose once more in his bosom that dumb longing for the old home, so tenderly expressed in the ballad:- I hear a voice you cannot hear Which says I must not stay I see a hand you cannot see Which beckons me away. It was certainly not the voice and the hand of Bevan. As a matter of fact, Bevan almost fainted away when he found Nick one morning wagging his disreputable tail before the shop. He knew that the game-keeper was a man of wrath and a great fighter. In an agony of fear, he quickly locked the dog in the yard behind the shop, fully bent upon shooting the wretched thing as soon as he could get back from his business rounds. When he arrived at the outskirts of the town he saw the Scotsman striding down the hill, with the flash of battle in his eye "Bevan, whaur's Nick?" Nick said Bevan and his face was a study in innocence, I thought you'd shot him." Mark you, laddie, if I thocht ye knew anything of his whereabouts, I¢d­ "and the Scotsman waved his staff to indicate the precise curve which Bevan's body would describe in space, and then he turned back up the hill. Bevan hastened to the shop before finishing his rounds his heart was beating furiously. Ned who happened to be standing at the door saw at a glance that something was wrong. He had been suspecting for some time past that Nick was a source of illicit revenue to Bevan he thought he knew even how it was done, and his old friend's want of confidence hurt him sorely. Ned, said Bevan, just finish this job for me I had to come back before getting through with it." "What's the matter?" asked Ned taking the basket on his arm. I don't know exactly," was the reply, "unless it's the deceit of the heart, or whatever you call it." Ned whistled softly to suggest the gravity of the complaint. Then to relieve his feelings Bevan told him what had taken place with the game-keeper but he said nothing about Nick's being locked up at that moment in the yard he also forgot to mention the case of the two farmers. Ned's sympathy was intense-just a little too intense, and he expressed it in the wrong way for he launched out into a vivid description of the game-keeper's fighting methods. It appeared from all accounts that the Scotsman had what Ned called a left-hand buster that crashed its way through everything. Ned illustrated this deadly buster several times upon an imaginary antagonist for Bevan's encouragement he also