Studies in the Art of Rat-catching Part 2

How those two children found their way that night through a blinding snow-storm to their only living friend, the dear blinking Grindum, I never could find out. All I could ever get from the boy was, "Oh, I always go where Grindum goes!" and the little girl could only say, "Jack took me." My wife says angels guided them. Maybe she's right, but I hardly think angels would be likely to go about on such a night; still my wife went out in the snow and wind to the shed and got out of her snug bed to do it, but then she put on a pea jacket and clogs, and that makes a difference.

This is a tiring long story to write, and I have not quite done it yet, for I must finish with the sand-pit man. He was tried, convicted and got three years. A year after he had been in prison he tried to escape by getting over a high wall, but in doing so he fell from the top and broke his back. He lingered some days and seemed to find a pleasure in telling the prison parson of all his misdeeds and in boasting of them. There was a long list, but only the last part of his story will serve for "the use of schools." It appears from what he said that, after he had given me the dog, he had intended to steal back to his house and take the two children to a deep pond and there drown them. Then, free from family ties, he hoped to get away and ship himself off to America. He also said that in a fit of rage he had thrashed his wife to death with his fists, and that his boy from having seen him do it had gone mad with fear, and was so bad, especially at night, that if he had not got a bull-dog sleeping with him as a sort of friend, he would go into a fit with fear and was often unconscious for hours.

It was an ugly story, and I am glad to say with the death of the sand-pit man the miserable part of the children's life ended. The girl is now twelve years old and has never left us. She is as sharp as a needle and as honest as old Chance and as good. She is having a good education, thanks to our Rector's wife, and could if need be earn her own livelihood, but we are not going ever to part with her.

The boy Jack was a great trouble to us at first. For months he would not be parted for a moment, day or night, from Grindum, and the dog actually had to go to school with him; but the master utterly failed to teach the boy even as far as A B C in his alphabet, and the dog not to blink; and so, one fine day, I had both returned on my hands as hopeless ignoramuses. I could not keep a blinking dog at home in idleness, so I took him with me ratting, and as Jack would not be parted from the dog, he had to come too. Everyone says the boy is "cracked." He is queer, I will allow, but if you will find me a better hand at rat-catching in all its branches, I should like to look at him; and besides, if Jack is cracked, then I like cracked boys, for I never came across one more obedient, more truthful, or more steady, and I find him a perfect treasure on the other side of the bank at the bolt holes.

Jack never mentions the past, and I should be inclined to think he had forgotten it, only if he is parted from Grindum for a short time he becomes wild looking about the eyes again and restless. At such times his sister, who mothers him much, will sit by him and stroke his face softly, when he will quickly recover himself. I don't know what will happen when Grindum "blinks his last," but the boy begins to follow me about and seems to cling to me, and by that time I hope I shall be so well liked by him that I may take Grindum's place.

Just two words more about Grindum and I have done. One is that the first time Grindum caught a rat, he picked it up by its hind leg, and the rat made its teeth meet through his nose. He softly put the rat down and it escaped, and I made my sides ache and greatly astonished all the other dogs by laughing at this great soft beast as he sat on his haunches licking the blood as it trickled from his nose, and staring up into the sky with a far-off vacant look, blinking worse than ever.

The other word is this. Though Grindum is a bull-dog with an awful "Crush your bones, tear your flesh" look, he is just the gentlest-hearted beast out, and there is not a puppy in the kennel, nor a child in the village, who does not know this and impose on him shamefully. Only last Sunday I had to stop a small child of five from driving off in a four-wheeled cart, using Grindum as a horse. Once, and once only, Grindum showed his temper. A big lout in the village threw a stone at him. Grindum only blinked, but Jack saw it and hit the lout, who being twice Jack's size turned upon him and knocked him down. In half a minute Grindum's teeth had met three times in the lout's calves and his trousers required reseating, and in three-quarters of a minute Grindum was sitting down with a bland expression of countenance, blinking with both eyes at the sky.

Now to continue my lesson on ratting dogs. I have two others, Pepper and Wasp--one a badly bred spaniel, and the other a terrier of doubtful parentage. They are both nice cheerful young dogs that it is a pleasure to see either at play or work, but they are yet young and too apt to get excited and wild. They _will_, when a rat is out of his hole, in a hedge, dash up and down the entire length of the field, making enormous jumps in the air, during which time they listen keenly for the rustle of the rat in the gra.s.s; and once, but only once, Pepper gave a yap when so rushing about, but I spoke to him so severely about this disgustingly low habit that he has never done it again.

Wasp is specially good at water, and I have taught him to come to me directly a rat is bolted with a plunge into a pond, and I carry her high up in my arms round the pond, and when the rat approaches the side, Wasp from her high vantage ground will dive down upon it and have it in an instant. Both dogs are quick killers and will, I am sure, in time be perfect; but as yet I do not think myself justified in putting them into a higher cla.s.s with such dogs as Chance and Tinker.

There! that is all for to-day, young gentlemen. Resume your Cicero, and, while you are preparing it, I will go to my room and look over the impositions I set you yesterday. It is understood that for "look over impositions" we may read, "Smoke cavendish in a short black pipe."

CHAPTER IV.

What do you say, boys? Shall we drop this and have a day's outdoor practice? To tell the truth, I don't think much of book-learning, especially if the book is written by myself; but I do believe in practice. Come along! It is the middle of October--just the nicest time of the year and the very best for ratting, for the vermin are yet out in the hedges, fine and strong from feeding in the corn, and with few young ones about. Come, Jack, we'll get the ferrets first; and off I go with the boy to the hutch, while the dogs in the kennel, having heard our steps and perfectly understanding what is up, bark and yap at the door, jump over each other, tumble and topple about like mad fiends. Before I get to the box I hear the ferrets jumping up at the sides, and when I open the lid half a dozen are out in a moment, and these I bag as a reward for their activity. I throw the others a rat to console them for being left at home, and, giving the ferrets to Jack, I strap on a big game bag, take up my spade, return and let the dogs out, and off we start.

Step out quick, Jack; there are three miles to go before we get to work, and it is 8 a.m. and I expect a big day. Yes, Chance, old lady, a fine day--a perfect day--a day to make both the feet and the heart light and every human sense rejoice. There has been just a little frost in the night: you can see that by the way the elms have spread a golden carpet under their branches in the lane and by their leaves that yet keep falling slowly one by one in the fresh, but dead still, air, and by the smell of the turnips, the fresh stubble and the newly turned earth behind yonder plough. The sun shines, cobwebs are floating through the air and get twisted round one's head, and far and near sounds such as a cart on the high road, a sheep dog barking, a boy singing, birds chirping, insects humming, the patter of our own feet, and the whispering of the brook under the bridge, all form part of a chorus heaven-sent to gladden the heart of man. I have heard tell, Chance, or I have seen it in a book, or I have felt it myself, I don't quite know which, that those who in youth have had such a walk as this, and have heard the music, smelt the perfumes and seen the sights (that is if they were blessed with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to take in), have never forgotten it. The memory appears for a time to pa.s.s away amidst the struggles of life, but it is never dead; to the soldier in battle, to the statesman in council, or the priest in prayers, to those in sorrow or in joy or in sickness, there may come, no one knows from where, no one knows why, a golden memory of such days, of such a walk.

Perhaps it is only a gleam resting but a second upon the mind, and perhaps leaving it saddened with a longing for days that are past, but yet I think making one feel a better man, giving one courage and hope, reminding one that, hard as the battle of life may be to fight, dark and gloomy as the days may be just now, another morning may arise for us, far, far more bright and glorious and joyful, one that will not be shadowed over by a returning night; but then that is only for the brave, the honest, the truthful--for those who are up early and strive late, never beaten, never doubting, always pressing forward.

But, come out of that, Wasp! Don't you know that cows kick if you sniff at their heels? Tinker, old man, keep your spirits up; Pepper, come back from that wood, for it is preserved. Yes, Jack, I think I'll fill my pipe again. Baccy does taste good on a day like this; but what doesn't?

I feel like a ten-year-old and as fit as a fiddler. Grindum, give over blinking and don't look so benevolent. No, Chance, no, old lady, I can't pull your tail, for you haven't got one. What, Jack, you say I haven't spoken for the past mile? Well, I suppose I have been thinking, and my thoughts have not been wholly sad ones. Open the gate; here we are; and you get over on the other side of the hedge and don't talk or make a noise, for I can see by the work the rats s-w-a-r-m. Steady, dogs, steady! And so we start.

The hedge is just what it should be, and if it had been made for ratting it could not be better. A round bank of soft earth, a shallow ditch with gra.s.s, little bush or bramble, and a gap every few yards. There is a gateway in the middle, which will make a hot corner later on when Grindum has taken his stand there; and there is a pipe under the gateway, the far end of which I shall close. The rats have never been disturbed, for the runs are as fresh as Oxford Street, and I have already seen one or two rats run into the hedge lower down from out the wheat stubble, and, there! that whistle has sent a lot more in. Steady, Wasp! Well done, Chance; you have marked one in that hole near you, or more than one, is there? Well, the more the merrier! Stand, dogs, stand!

Are you ready, Jack? And in goes a ferret as lively as quicksilver and as fierce as a tiger.

For a minute all is quiet; then a slight stir on the other side and two snaps of Tinker's lantern-jaws, and two rats dead; three others out of a side hole are killed by Wasp, and three others accounted for by Grindum, and that fool Pepper is racing and jumping down the hedge a mile off.

Whistle! whistle! and back he comes, and at that moment Jack picks up a ferret on the other side, it having gone through the hole. Chance sniffs at it and says it is swept clear, and I block it up with my heel, and Jack does the same to the bolt-hole, so that if a rat does come back later on the dogs will have a chance; and then on we go a few yards to the next hole which Chance marks. This time the ferret went in like a lion and came out like a lamb, with the blood running out of the side of its face; and whilst I am examining the bite, a real patriarch rat bolted at a side hole near Pepper, who strikes at it, misses taking a proper hold and gets it too far back, and the next moment the blood is pouring from a bite above his eye; but the rat is dead, and Pepper but little the worse.

I thought it was too late in the year for young ones, but it was not, for at the next hole we came to the ferret got into a nest, killed a lot of young ones and "laid up," and, as I had not a box-trap with me, I had to dig it out. This took some time, as I lost the hole, and Jack, whilst down grubbing with his hands, broke into a wrong one in which the old rat was ready for him, and at once bit him through the end of his finger. Jack sucked it well and did not mind, but I did not much like the appearance of things, for in half-an-hour I had had a ferret laid up, and a dog and a boy bitten badly by rats, and these bites are often very poisonous. Fortunately this time Jack took no harm and was soon well. As soon as Jack pulled his hand out of the rat's hole, Pincher put his long nose in, and all was over in a minute. Soon after I came on the ferret curled up in a nest of young rats, all minus their heads; and so that ferret, from being gorged with food, was no more good for work, and had to be put away with the bitten one.

After this we got on much faster; the holes were close together, and even with the greatest care lots of rats bolted and went forward, but I would not allow the dogs to disturb fresh ground by following them. Some went back, and Pepper and Wasp had a good time, for I let them follow and work them alone, having stopped all back holes after ferreting them.

Now and then, Jack and I had to go back, as there was an old pollard tree covered with ivy, and many of the rats got up that, and Pincher had to be lifted up into the crown to displace them, and then when they jumped down, three or four at a time, there was a grand scrimmage.

When we had got twenty yards or so from the gateway, Grindum went forward and stood there and killed a dozen rats that tried to pa.s.s, and a lot more went into the pipe under the roadway. These we left alone, only after we had pa.s.sed we stopped up the open end and opened the shut one, so that in future rats going back might wait quietly in the arch till we were ready for them. By the time we had got as far as the gate it was just noon, so we called the dogs back to a tree we had pa.s.sed, and then Jack and I sat down and paid attention to the game bag, which was well provided with cold meat and bread and cheese and a bottle of beer.

I am not a good hand at picnics and never was. I mean those big gatherings with ladies, lobster salad, hot dishes, plates, knives, spoons, champagne, etc. I find the round world was created a little too low down to sit upon with comfort; my knees don't make a good table; flies get into my beer and hopping things into my plate. I have to get up and hand eatables about; things bite me, and more creep about me, and it does not look well to scratch. The hostess looks anxious about her gla.s.s and plate; someone has forgotten the salt, and some one else the corkscrew. The host, be he ever so sad, _makes_ fun, and made fun is magnified misery to me. No, I don't like picnics; I would rather be at home and feed upon a table; and yet a snack at noon-day, after hard work, sitting under a tree, with your hands as plates, with a good "shut-knife," a silent companion and the dogs all round you, _is_ pleasant. Double Gloucester then equals Stilton, and bottled beer nectar; and then the pipe in quiet, while Jack takes the dogs, after they have finished the sc.r.a.ps, to the pond to drink. Talk of Havanas!

Well, talk of them, but give me that pipe as I loll, half asleep, resting against the tree, my legs spread out, and my hat tipped over my nose. I half close my eyes and go nearly to sleep, but keep pulling at the pipe, and half unconsciously hear the leaves whispering above, the insects humming, the stubble rustling, the trembling of a thrashing machine, and the rush of a train in the far distance. Jack returns from the pond, throws himself on the ground on his face, kicks his legs in the air and whistles softly, with the gentle Grindum blinking beside him. Chance and Tinker lie out full length on their sides and go to sleep. Wasp stretches on the ground, with her legs out behind her, and drags herself about with her front feet. Pepper sits down, scratches his ear, and then dashes at a pa.s.sing b.u.mble bee, and all becomes a pleasant jumble of sights and sounds; but, with a start, I recover myself, drop my pipe, topple my hat off and lose my temper, for that everlastingly restless, volatile, good-for-nothing, ramshackly beast, Pepper, has been and licked me all up the side of the face! The dream, the quiet, the rest is all broken, so, jumping up, I tip my pipe out on the heel of my boot, give a stretch, grasp the spade, and off we go to finish our job.

For three hours we work our way on, and a line of dead rats on the headland marks our progress, till at last we reach the bottom of the field and our bank is done. Pepper has got three more bites, another ferret is done for by a nip on the nose, and Jack has torn his trousers and is very dirty; but there is yet the drain pipe under the gate to attend to, and it is getting on in the day. I cut three or four long sticks and tie them tightly together, and then to the end of this fasten a good hard bunch of gra.s.s, and back we go to the drain. I go to one end with Grindum and Pincher, whilst Jack takes the sticks, Pepper and Wasp to the other end, and gently and slowly shoves the sticks through. Two venturesome rats bolt at my end and are killed. When the sticks appear I grasp them and gradually draw the whisp of gra.s.s into the drain. It fits tight and takes some pulling, but it comes steadily along, wiping all before it. Faster and faster the rats bolt and are killed, and even old Chance, who began by watching us, gets excited and joins the sport.

Pepper and Wasp dash in for a last worry, which is over in a few minutes, when twenty-four rats are cast by Jack up on to the bank. Well done, dogs! well done, good dogs! Woo-hoop, woo-hoop! Good dogs! That's the way, my boys! Woo-hoop! woo-hoop! And the dogs roll on the ground, stretch, wipe the dirt out of their eyes with their paws, and rub their faces in the gra.s.s.

Jack goes backwards and forwards and collects the spoil, and we count up seventy-three real beauties, a few of which I really think should be fourpenny beasts, they are so big. Never mind, seventy-three rats at twopence each comes to twelve and twopence--not such a bad day's work; and, Jack, you shall have a hot supper to-night; and oh, you dogs, you dogs, think of the supper I will give you! Bones with lots of meat on, oatmeal and such soup! Think of it, dogs! think of it! And so the work ends, and all are happy and contented.

Three miles down turning twisting lanes to reach home, Grindum and I first, then Jack, and the rear brought up by the long and now a little drooping tail of Tinker. All have had enough; even the volatile young Pepper trots slowly, and therefore looks ever so much more business-like.

Before we start the shades are falling, and as we trudge along nature's evening vespers speak of the closing day. Workmen sitting sideways on quiet harnessed cart-horses stump past with a friendly "Good night, neighbour, good night!" Women with children in "go-carts" bustle past in a hurry to get home and fetch up the supper. Farm horses are drinking in the pond or browsing on the rank gra.s.s at the side; sparrows are chattering in the old alder bush before going to bed in the ivy on the church; pigs in the homestead are calling for their supper; the cows pa.s.s us coming home to be milked; rooks fly steadily to the old elm trees near the Manor; and a robin pipes clear and shrill on the roof of the shed in the cottage garden. There are partridges calling out "cheap wheat" in the stubble, and pewits crying on the meadows. c.o.c.k pheasants noisily flutter up to roost in the firs, and the old doctor standing at his door makes soft music with his violin.

The parson joins us and has a cheery word for all, especially the dogs, who are all his personal friends; and so we jog on and reach the village, where the wood smoke rises straight in a blue cloud from the cottage chimneys, and the fire light sends a ruddy gleam across the roads. Groups of men and boys stand about resting, little children race and play, and oh, such a delicious whiff of something stewing, with a little bit of onion in it, comes from the open door of the village ale-house! And this reminds us all that our suppers are near, and we finish the evening's walk quite briskly.

No need to say, "Kennel, dogs, kennel!" All go in of their own accord, and in five minutes are busy at their savoury-smelling _hot_ supper. The ferrets are fed and locked up, and then, unlacing our boots at the back door and kicking them off, the day is done. Supper, rest and quiet, a pipe, a book, bed and happy dreams are all before us.

"Now, Croker, minor, you will go to the Doctor's study before school to-morrow. You have been most inattentive, and it is not the first time I have had occasion to speak to you. You can go now, but don't forget that this is tub night, as you all have done on the last four occasions.

If I have further complaints on this head from the matron, I shall take you all out for a long day's rat-catching, so I advise you all to be very careful." Five minutes later this master is smoking in his room and says to another master who is doing the same, "I say, Potts, do you know I think these new lessons on rat-catching are all very well, but I think they are beyond the capacity of schoolboys. Why, they strain _my_ mind, and I think they should only be taken up at the universities and during the last term; and then the boys do so hate them," etc.

CHAPTER V.

"Croker, minor, have you been up to the head-master? Yes? Then sit still and don't fidget. Boys, pick up your books on rat-catching, and we will resume yesterday's task."

The last chapter treats of a prime day's rat-catching, where rats were numerous and known to be numerous; but don't suppose all days are like this, for if you do you will be sadly disappointed, and you will have a lot to learn, for there are days, and very pleasant days too, when you will have to walk mile after mile to find a rat, and even then not be successful; but you will be out of doors in the fresh air, with devoted companions and something fresh to see at every step, if you keep your eyes open. Don't get disheartened, and above all things never say, "Oh, it is no good looking here or looking there for a rat; there is sure not to be one. Come on and don't waste time." You often find them in the most unexpected places.

I once went three times to the house of an old lady, being sent for because there was a rat that came each night and took her hen's eggs and carried off young ducks and chickens. I spent hours looking for it in hedges, ditches, sheds, out-houses and stable, and even put Tinker up on the roof of all the buildings, thinking the a.s.sa.s.sin might be under the tiles; but it was no go.

Night after night the plunderer came, and I began to see that the old lady did not think much of me. At last, one afternoon, I called again and began operations by asking to have a dog that was tied up to a kennel in a back yard led away, as his barking disturbed my dogs. This was done, and a minute afterwards Chance was sidling round the kennel, staking her reputation upon the rat being under it. I got out a ferret and looked round the kennel, and was utterly disgusted to find it was placed firmly on hard ground without a vestige of a hole. I am sorry to say I went so far as to sneer at Chance and tell her she did not know the difference between a dog and a rat. She herself for a moment seemed in doubt, but the next she went _inside_ the kennel and stood at a hole in the plank floor. I put the ferret back in the bag and, taking hold of the kennel, tilted it up, and in an instant the dogs had a vicious-looking old monster dead.

Now the only possible way that rat could have got in and out of his house was by pa.s.sing the dog as he slept, and yet the old lady and her gardener a.s.sured me that the dog was as keen as mustard after rats.

I once killed a rat inside a church. I found it during a long sermon, but for the life of me I can't remember what that sermon was about. I was sitting in a seat opposite about a score of village school children, and suddenly I was struck by their appearance, and the thought pa.s.sed through my mind, "How like humans are to dogs! Why, those children look just like my dogs when they find a rat, especially that flaxen-haired girl with a front tooth out." Then I noticed that they were all looking in one direction, and so I looked there too and saw a rat sitting with just its nose out of a hole which ran under the brick floor, apparently listening to the sermon. The next morning the parson and I went to the church. I took one ferret and only Tinker. I chose Tinker because he was black and rather clerical looking. The rat was at home, and we had it in five minutes. This was one of the few times I ever did rat-catching with my hat off, and it felt very queer.

Again, I once killed a mother rat and a lot of young ones which I found in the stuffing of a spring sofa in a spare bedroom at an old manor-house. There were rats in the walls, and "Mary Ann" had often seen a rat in the room when she went in to dust, and it had given her "such a turn." This time I took all the dogs with me, and we were followed by the lady of the house, four dreadfully pretty daughters and "Mary Ann."

Madam and Mary Ann got on the sofa, standing, and the four daughters stood on four chairs round the room. All six clasped their clothes tight round their ankles--why, I never could think. This was the only time in her life that I ever found Chance a fool. Directly she got into the room, she wriggled and twisted, turned her head this way and that, threw herself on her back and fairly grovelled. Wasp, Pepper, and the long-tailed Tinker were nearly as bad, and it was plain to see they were shy and bashful in such a gorgeous room and surrounded by such a galaxy of beauty. It was the soft-hearted Grindum who saved us; he blinked much, but directly I said, "Hie round, dogs! Hunt him up! Search him out!" he went to work--up on the bed, round the room, behind the furniture, and at last began sniffing round the sofa. I got hot all over, for I thought he was mistaking an aristocratic lady and her hand-maid for rats; but no, at last he went under the sofa, and turning over on his back began to scratch at the underside of it up above him. Madam and Mary Ann jumped off, and the latter felt another "turn"; then both took refuge on chairs and again clasped their clothes tight round them. I turned the sofa up on its back, and there through the sacking near a leg I found a nice round hole into the interior among the springs. I put a ferret in, and in a minute there was a rush and scuffle, the sofa seemed alive, and then three or four small rats bolted out and were accounted for; another squeak and rush, and out came the mother and was quickly dispatched; then, as the ferret did not come out, I ripped the sacking and found it eating a deliciously tender young rat. I bagged the ferret, and while I did so, Grindum killed three or four small ones. I afterwards found that the rats had eaten through the wainscot and so got into the room. The rest of the afternoon was spent in turning over all sorts of furniture, including beds, and hunting through each room with the dogs; but we found no more rats as inside lodgers.

Three or four months after this episode, rats swarmed in the walls of this same house and behind the wainscoting, and my professional services were called in to get rid of them. How they got into the house I never discovered, for there were no holes from the outside, and no creepers on the walls for them to mount by and get on to the roof; the drains did not appear to communicate with the inside of the house, and all the doors fitted tight. Equally puzzling was it, now that they were inside, to get them out, for I dare not put ferrets in, for fear they should kill a rat and leave it to decay and smell for months.

I tried various plans. I got a live rat, tied a ferret's bell on it, and turned it loose, and for days after it was constantly heard tinkling inside the walls; but it did not drive the rats away. I singed the coat of a rat, put tar on the feet of another and turned them loose; but it was no good. At last I took possession of a wood-house in a cellar down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, from which a short pa.s.sage led to other cellars, and in the walls of these there were many open holes. First of all I went carefully over the wood cellar and made sure there were no holes in it; and then, putting in a few f.a.ggots to give shelter to any nervous young rat, I started each night to feed them with delicious b.a.l.l.s of barley-meal, which were made up with sc.r.a.ps. In this way I gave a rats'

supper-party each night for three weeks, and each morning I found clean-swept dishes. At last the fatal day arrived. A string was tied to the handle of the door leading up into the kitchen, the food was placed in the dishes as usual about ten p.m., and all the household, except myself, went to bed. I sat over the kitchen fire reading my paper till a distant clock struck midnight, and then I gave a sharp pull to the string and heard the door bang to and the fastening fall, and I knew I had them. I lit a big gla.s.s lantern, went round to the stables and let out all the dogs, took them to the cellar window and slipt them through quickly, squeezing myself through after them and shutting the window again. In half no time fifty rats were killed, and all the dogs, except Tinker, pretty badly bitten; but they were used to that and did not care. Then I locked the back door behind me, taking the key home to bring back in the morning when I called to be paid eight and fourpence for my night's work. Three times in the next three months I went through a similar performance, and the first time I killed twenty-eight rats, the second seven, and the third time only two, and these were old bachelors. Then every hole in the walls was filled up with a cement made up with broken gla.s.s, and I have never heard of a rat in that house since.

Before I forget it, let me tell you that if a rat dies in the wall, or under the floor of a house where it can't be got at, its whereabouts can be discovered in this way, provided the weather is warm. Take a b.u.t.terfly net over to the butchers shop, and there catch a dozen bluebottle flies, and, taking care not to hurt them, slip them into a gla.s.s jar and tie a rag over it. Return to the room where the smell is, and, shutting the door after you, let your pack of flies loose and sit down to watch them, and in half-an-hour you will find they are all buzzing round one spot. Have this spot opened out, be it wall or floor, and there the dead rat will be found. Has the bell rung? Yes, half a minute! Put your books away, form two and two outside, and I will take you for our usual walk. We will resume this task in the morning. Croker, minor, the top part of Jones' leg was not made to stick pins into. If I see you do it again, I shall give you a rat to catch, so be careful!

CHAPTER VI.