Go and bury poor Snip while there is daylight, in some quiet place where you can go and think and read and play sometimes.' Stephen returned to the hut for a spade, and then went, with a strange blending of grief and gladness, to the place where he had left his poor dog.

He chose a solitary yew tree on the hill for the burial ground, and dug as deep a grave as he could among the far-spreading roots.

It was strange, only such things do happen now and then, that while he was working away hard and fast, with the dead dog lying by under the trunk of the yew tree, the gamekeeper himself passed that way.

He had been in a terrible temper all day, for he had discovered the mischief done down in the fir-coppice, and the loss of his carefully-preserved covey.

The sight of Stephen and dead Snip irritated him; though a feeling of shame crept over him as he saw how tear-stained the boy's face was.
'Mr.Jones,' said Stephen, 'I've something to say to you.' 'Be sharp, then,' replied the gamekeeper, 'and mind what you're about.
I'll not take any impudence from a young rascal like you.' 'It's no impudence,' answered Stephen; 'only I know to some black game, and I wanted to tell you about them.' 'Black game!' he said contemptuously.