His wife was old and deaf. Neither of them heard the guns nor the dogs.
Those in the kennels close to the cottage, and very likely one or more
indoors, must have barked at the noise of the shooting. But if any dim
sense of the uproar did reach the keeper's ear he put it down to the
moon, at which dogs will bay. As for his assistants, they had quietly
gone home, so soon as they felt sure that the keeper was housed for the
night. Long immunity from attack had bred over-confidence; the staff
also was too small for the extent of the place, and this had doubtless
become known. No one sleeps so soundly as an agricultural labourer; and
as the nearest hamlet was at some distance it is not surprising that
they did not wake.
In the early morning a fogger going to fodder his cattle came across a
pheasant lying dead on the path, the snow stained with its blood. He
picked it up, and put it under his smock-frock, and carried it to the
pen, where he hid it under some litter, intending to take it home. But
afterwards, as he crossed the fields towards the farm, he passed near
the wood and observed the tracks of many feet and a gap in the fence. He
looked through the gap and saw that the track went into the preserves.
On second thoughts he went back for the pheasant and took it to his
master.
The farmer, who was sitting down to table, quietly ate his breakfast,
and then strolled over to the keeper's cottage with the bird.
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