sensible brute, who loved the sport as much as
his master: he was a strong lean yellow
cross-bred dog, with long hair and a feather
tail: he knew as well as we did that he must
keep quiet during the day; and, though I
sometimes did my best to 'tice him, I could
never prevail upon him to have a game of
play. As soon as he had eaten his dinner,
he would curl himself up, with his nose under
his tail, and go off to sleep as sensible as a
Christian; he knew that his master would
give him exercise enough at night. We had
made a place for him to live in under the
bushes close by where the tackle was kept,
and we knew that nobody could meddle with
it so long as he was there.

Things went on in this way for some
months. George's mother, who had always
been ailing, fell into a kind of waste,
and the doctors said she could not last long.
George was always a good son, and he
watched and waited on his mother like a
woman. He would not have had her know
anything of his going out at nights for the
world; and, though it was well known in
the village, the neighbours had too much
good feeling to tell her. George was greatly
cut up by his mother's illness, but he told me
that when she was taken he would not stay
in the place a day, but would go for a soldier. I
nearly broke my heart when he said this, but
he comforted me by saying, that he would send
for me, and we should share our fortune
together.  But this was not to be.

One night a party of men asked George to
head them on an expedition into the woods of
Lord Capelcurry, where there was to be a battue
the next day. Of course all the keepers were
on the alert, but that was a temptation
rather than not. George asked me to be
with his mother for that evening, and to
read to her to keep her from asking questions.
I consented; though I would much
rather have gone with the party.

I saw George go away, and then went
to the cottage of his mother, to whom I told
a natural story to account for his absence.
She soon grew weary of the reading, and
talked and maundered on about former
days, before she was married, and about her
first meeting with her husband, and how
much he was in love with her, and what a
good husband he had been before he was led
astray by bad company. I was thinking of
George; but I was a good listener, and
remained with her till she went to bed, and
then I went home. Early the next morning
I was awakened by bad news: there had
been a desperate affray with the poachers the
night before; one of Lord Capelcurry's
keepers was killed, and another seriously
wounded. All the poachers had made their
escape except George, who had been taken,
and was dreadfully hurt. The news spread
like wildfire; the constables were abroad;
three of the poachers were secured, but the
others managed to find safe hiding. It was
impossible to keep the news from George's
mother, and you may fancy the misery it
caused. I was nearly frantic, and walked all
the way to the gaol in the next town, which
was fifteen miles off, in the hopes of seeing
George. Of course I was not admitted, but I
learned that he was in the infirmary, and his
wounds were doing well. I was nearly mad.
I could have beaten down the gates to get at
him; and when I was turned away, I thought
I would set the town on fire to revenge him.
Some friends of the other men who had been
taken were very kind to me, and kept me
from doing mischief to myself or any one
else.

There lived in the town a very clever
man, who was looked up to as a sort of
prisoner's friend; for if a man got into
trouble, Mr. Messent was always ready to
take his part; and he often got a prisoner off,
when there had not seemed a chance in the
world for him. We all went to him and
told him our case. He spoke kindly, and
seemed to be very sorry about George and the
other men. He talked of the game laws in a
way that was a real comfort to us, and we
went home in better heart. All the village
joined to help to pay the money for the
defence. After Mr. Messent had been admitted
to see the prisoners, he drove over to our
village to collect evidence and examine
witnesses. He called to see George's mother.
He brought her a message from her son.
He brought me a kind word from him too.
Altogether he kept up our spirits wonderfully.

When, at last, the assizes came on,
George was recovered enough to take his
trial. All the prisoners were found guilty,
and George was declared to be the one
who fired the shot that had been the actual
cause of the gamekeeper's death. The judge,
in his address, declared it to be one of the
most aggravated cases he had ever tried,
and called upon the prisoners to rejoice in
the lenity of the sentence; which was, that
George was to be transported for the term of
his natural life, and all the others for fourteen
years. I saw George once—for one moment.
I, and the friends of the other prisoners were
allowed to stand in the yard as they were
conveyed to the van. I sprang forwards and
grasped one of his hands: he said cheerfully,
"Good bye, old fellow; we will meet again."

George's mother never looked up again:
she died before the week was out. The
gang of poachers was entirely broken up,
and Lord Capelcurry and his keepers had
their hares and partridges in peace. The
keepers had killed George's dog; but I
gathered together all the odd matters that
had belonged to him, and which nobody
disputed with me. I then turned my back
upon the place where I had lived, and went
to seek for work elsewhere.

I might have been then about sixteen.
The gardener at Squire Munsford's had