CHAPTER XIII. "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, "SET a thief to catch a thief," remarked "Except that which you may feel disposed to make presents of, or to appropriate for your own consumption," replied his majesty. "Those are perquisites with all keepers," rejoined Mr Fulton; "at least, all head keepers," continued he, with a look of self importance. "Ay," returned the king, " among the marvels and changes which have taken place, that of yours may rank not among the least." "It certainly is a jump of no narrow width," added Mr Fulton, "when you come to reflect upon it. From being the worst enemy to the manor " "Say poacher," interrupted Carew. "I've no objection," replied Mr Fulton, "and I agree with you that it's better to call things by their right names. Well, then!" he continued, "from being the biggest poacher that ever snared, netted, or shot in these parts, for I beat Ned—I beg his pardon, though absent-I ought to have said Mr Edward Sinclair." "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the king. "I think the former would have suited better, as applied to the time and circumstance." "I won't deny but you may be right," said Mr Fulton. "What was Ned Swiftfoot, and what is Mr Edward Sinclair, are two skins from the same cat, but very different colours. However, as I was saying, or about to say," continued he, "taking the season through, I beat him by a great many score heads, in my quiet, easy way." "And now you're appointed in the room. of honest Tom Brainshaw, who, I'll be sworn, never killed a rabbit but he gave an account of," replied his majesty. "Poor Tom!" rejoined Mr Fulton, commiseratingly. "He was too honest for Dorsetshire. A better or more watchful keeper, however, never lived." "Where has he gone?" asked Carew. "To where he was born, in Cumberland," replied Mr Fulton. "We took a stroll by moonlight, last evening, round the verge of the covers, and the poor old man cried bit VOL. III. L terly enough as he turned his back upon 'em for the last time. He left this morning early." "But well provided for," rejoined the king. "Yes," returned Mr Fulton, "a guinea a-week for life, to do nothing, isn't to be considered poor wages." "Did he express no surprise at the discovery of your mask?" inquired the king. "He made some remark about having been fooled," replied Mr Fulton; "but I paid little attention to it." "Poor fellow!" rejoined his majesty. "I saw him take leave of the family yesterday, and it was almost as bad as seeing a man preparing for his execution. He'll not live long." 66 Perhaps not," returned Mr Fulton; "but there's one thing to be said, he has the means of living as long as he's able, I mean-' -" and he pointed to a round of cold boiled beef and a flask placed on a table covered with a snowy cloth. "He's lost all care for such things as those," said Carew, "or I mistake the expression of his features when I last saw them." "Then, if that's the case," replied Mr Fulton, "if that's the case," repeated he, 66 my opinion is that he's not fit to live long. When a man becomes careless and indifferent to beef, he isn't fit for this world." "You think so?" rejoined Carew, smiling at this very earthy opinion concerning the fading pleasures of life. "He's "I know so," returned Mr Fulton. done to a turn when he feels a disregard for beef-particularly for boiled beef. That's a test, sir, whether a man's fit or unfit to live." "As I am not inclined to be considered unfit to live," said the king, laughing; "I'll |