Then the squire got a head-keeper named Cutts, a man as was said to know more about the ways of poachers than they did themselves.  He was said to ’ave cleared out all the poachers for miles round the place ’e came from, and pheasants could walk into people’s cottages and not be touched.

He was a sharp-looking man, tall and thin, with screwed-up eyes and a little red beard.  The second day ’e came ’e was up here at this ’ere Cauliflower, having a pint o’ beer and looking round at the chaps as he talked to the landlord.  The odd thing was that men who’d never taken a hare or a pheasant in their lives could ’ardly meet ’is eye, while Bob Pretty stared at ’im as if ’e was a wax-works.

“I ’ear you ’ad a little poaching in these parts afore I came,” ses Mr. Cutts to the landlord.

“I think I ’ave ‘eard something o’ the kind,” ses the landlord, staring over his ’ead with a far-away look in ’is eyes.

“You won’t hear of much more,” ses the keeper.  “I’ve invented a new way of catching the dirty rascals; afore I came ’ere I caught all the poachers on three estates.  I clear ’em out just like a ferret clears out rats.”

“Sort o’ man-trap?” ses the landlord.

“Ah, that’s tellings,” ses Mr. Cutts.

“Well, I ’ope you’ll catch ’em here,” ses Bob Pretty; “there’s far too many of ’em about for my liking.  Far too many.”

“I shall ’ave ’em afore long,” ses Mr. Cutts, nodding his ’ead.

[Illustration:  “I shall ’ave ’em afore long,’ ses Mr. Cutts.”]

“Your good ’ealth,” ses Bob Pretty, holding up ’is mug.  “We’ve been wanting a man like you for a long time.”

“I don’t want any of your impidence, my man,” ses the keeper.  “I’ve ’eard about you, and nothing good either.  You be careful.”

“I am careful,” ses Bob, winking at the others.  “I ’ope you’ll catch all them low poaching chaps; they give the place a bad name, and I’m a’most afraid to go out arter dark for fear of meeting ’em.”

Peter Gubbins and Sam Jones began to laugh, but Bob Pretty got angry with ’em and said he didn’t see there was anything to laugh at.  He said that poaching was a disgrace to their native place, and instead o’ laughing they ought to be thankful to Mr. Cutts for coming to do away with it all.

“Any help I can give you shall be given cheerful,” he ses to the keeper.

“When I want your help I’ll ask you for it,” ses Mr. Cutts.

“Thankee,” ses Bob Pretty.  “I on’y ’ope I sha’n’t get my face knocked about like yours ’as been, that’s all; ’cos my wife’s so partikler.”

“Wot d’ye mean?” ses Mr. Cutts, turning on him.  “My face ain’t been knocked about.”

“Oh, I beg your pardin,” ses Bob; “I didn’t know it was natural.”

Mr. Cutts went black in the face a’most and stared at Bob Pretty as if ’e was going to eat ’im, and Bob stared back, looking fust at the keeper’s nose and then at ’is eyes and mouth, and then at ’is nose agin.