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"
He
was
gobbling
mincemeat
,
meatbone
,
bread
,
cheese
,
and
pork
pie
,
all
at
once
:
staring
distrustfully
while
he
did
so
at
the
mist
all
round
us
,
and
often
stopping
—
even
stopping
his
jaws
—
to
listen
.
Some
real
or
fancied
sound
,
some
clink
upon
the
river
or
breathing
of
beast
upon
the
marsh
,
now
gave
him
a
start
,
and
he
said
,
suddenly
—
"
You
’
re
not
a
deceiving
imp
?
You
brought
no
one
with
you
?
"
"
No
,
sir
!
No
!
"
"
Nor
giv
’
no
one
the
office
to
follow
you
?
"
"
No
!
"
"
Well
,
"
said
he
,
"
I
believe
you
.
You
’
d
be
but
a
fierce
young
hound
indeed
,
if
at
your
time
of
life
you
could
help
to
hunt
a
wretched
warmint
hunted
as
near
death
and
dunghill
as
this
poor
wretched
warmint
is
!
"
Something
clicked
in
his
throat
as
if
he
had
works
in
him
like
a
clock
,
and
was
going
to
strike
.
And
he
smeared
his
ragged
rough
sleeve
over
his
eyes
.
Pitying
his
desolation
,
and
watching
him
as
he
gradually
settled
down
upon
the
pie
,
I
made
bold
to
say
,
"
I
am
glad
you
enjoy
it
.
"
"
Did
you
speak
?
"
