* * * * * * *
We had dug and listened and dug again for our badger, all themorning. Then Dick sent his mongrel in at the hole, and the mongrelhad come forth like a projectile and sat down at a distance,bewailing his lot. After him the Dandie went in and sneaked outagain with a fore-paw bitten to the bone. And at last Meg stepped ingrimly, and stayed. For a time there was dead silence, and then aswe pressed our ears against the turf and the violets, that were justbeginning their autumnal flowering, we heard a scuffling undergroundand began to dig down to it, till the sweat streamed into our eyes.Now Dick's wife had helped us to bring up the tools, and hung aroundto watch the sport--an ugly, apathetic woman, with hair like ahorse's tail bound in a yellow rag, a man's hips, and a skirt of oldsacking. I think there was no love lost between her and Dick,because she had borne him no children. Anyway, while Dick and I werebusy, digging like niggers and listening like Indians--for Meg didn'tbark, not being trained to the work, and all we could hear was athud, thud now and then, and the hard breathing of the grapple--allof a sudden the old hag spoke, for the first time that day--"S'trewth, but I've gripped!"Looking up, I saw her stretched along the side of the turf, with herhead resting on the lip of the badger's hole and her right arminside, up to the arm-pit. Without speaking again, she began to workher body back, like a snake, the muscles swelling and sinking fromshoulder to flank in small waves. She had the strength of a horse.Inch by inch she pulled back, while we dug around the mouth of thehole, filling her mouth and eyes with dirt, until her arm came tolight, then the tongs she held; and then Dick spat out a mightyoath--"It's the dog she's got!"So it was. The woman had hold of Meg all the time, and the gamelittle brute had held on to the badger. Also the badger had heldher, and when at last his hold slipped, she was a gruesome sight.She looked round, reproachfully, shook the earth out of her eyes andwent in again without a sound. And Dick picked up a clod and threwit in his wife's face, between the eyes. She cursed him, in aperfunctory way, and walked off, down the wood, to look after herstew.But now, Meg having pinned her enemy again, we soon dug them out: andI held the sack while Dick took the badger by the tail and droppedhim in. His teeth snapped, a bare two inches from my left hand, ashe fell. After a short rest, he was despatched. The method need notbe described. It was somewhat crude, and in fact turned me not alittle sick."One o'clock," Dick observed, glancing up at the sun, and resuminghis care of Meg. "What're ye trying to do, youngster?""Trying to put on paper what a badger's like when he's dead. If onlyI had colours--""My son, there's a kind of man afflicted with an itch to put all hesees on paper. What's the use? Fifty men might sit down and writewhat the grey of a badger's like; and they can't, because there's nowords for it. All they can say is that 'tis badger's-grey--whichmeans nought to a man that hasn't seen one; and a man that hasdon't want to be told. Same with your pencils and paints. Cast yourhead back and look up--how deep can you see into the sky?""Miles.""Ay, and every mile shining to the eye. I've seen pictures in mytime, but never one that made a dab of paint look a mile deep.Besides, why draw a thing when you can lie on your back and look upat it?"I was about to answer when Dick raised his head, with a queeralertness in his eyes. Then he vented a long, low whistle, and wenton binding up Meg's jaw.Immediately after, there was a crackling of boughs to the left and myfather's head appeared above the slope, with the red face of thepastor behind it. We were caught.On the harangue that followed I have no wish to dwell. My father andthe pastor pitched it in by turns, while Dick went on with hissurgery, his mouth pursed up for a soundless whistle. Theprosecution had it all its own way, and I felt uncomfortably sureabout the sentence.But at last, to our amazement, Dick, having finished the bandaging,let Meg go and advanced. He picked up my sketch-book."Gentlemen both," said he, "I've been listening respectful to yourtalk about God and his wrath, and as a poor heathen I'd like to knowyour idea of him. Here's a pencil and paper. Will you be kindenough to draw God? that I may see what he's like."The pastor's jaw dropped. My father went grey with rage. Dick stooda pace back, smiling; and the sun glanced on the gold rings in hisears."No, sirs. It ain't blasphemy. But I know you can't give me anotion that won't make him out to be a sort of man, pretty much likeyourselves--two eyes, a nose, mouth, and beard perhaps. Now my wifesays there's points about a woman that you don't reckon into yournotion; and my dog says there's more in a tail than most menestimate--""You foul-tongued poacher--" broke out my father."Now you're mixing matters up," Dick interrupted, blandly; "I poach,and that's a crime. I've shown your boy to-day how men kill badgers,and maybe that's wrong. But look here, sir--I've taught him somethings besides; the ways of birds and beasts, and their calls; how totell the hour by sun and stars; how to know an ash from a beech, of apitch-dark night, by the sound of the wind in their tops; what herbswill cure disease and where to seek them; why some birds hop andothers run. Sirs, I come of an old race that has outlived books andpictures and meeting-houses: you belong to a new one and a cock-sure,and maybe you're right. Anyhow, you know precious little of thisworld, whatever you may of another."He stopped, pushed a hand through his coarse black hair, and, as ifsuddenly tired, resumed the old, sidelong gypsy look that he had beenstraightening with an effort."Your boy'll believe what you tell him: he's got the strength in hisblood. Take him home and don't beat him too hard."He glanced at me with a light nod, untied his dogs, shouldered histools, and slouched away down the path, to sleep under his accustomedtree that night and be off again, next day, travelling amongst menand watching them with his weary ironical smile.
THE END.
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