While the gamekeeper is seldom at fault in the matter of a ready
excuse, he meets many people who are his superior in carrying
ever-ready lies on their lips. From poachers and mouchers, as the
haunters of hedge-sides are called, he might learn the lesson that
no excuse is better than a fine excuse that is shallow. One Sunday
morning a keeper, dressed in his go-to-meeting clothes--a useful
disguise--came sauntering silently down a road bounded by unkempt
hawthorn hedges. His trained ear caught the sound of a dog careering
past him on the field-side of the road: then he saw the dog's master,
who, on seeing him, set up a sudden and energetic whistling. Of this
the dog took no notice; with his nose well down, he rushed on to a
rabbit-burrow and began digging furiously. "These hedges are full of
rats," remarked the dog's master. "My dog killed five just now." Asked
what had happened to their bodies, Mr. Moucher replied calmly, "He
swallowed 'em whole." On the keeper suggesting that there was not much
chance of finding a rat in the rabbit's burrow, the moucher agreed,
called off his dog, and went his way. In the hedges there was no sign
of a rat, but a few rabbits managed to eke out an existence, though
heavily persecuted by gentlemen of the road.
* * * * *