Doctor Dolittle's Circus

The First Chapter The Highwayman's Double

"Is he a decent fellow, this farmer you're working for now?" asked the Doctor, seating himself in the grass of the meadow.

"Oh, yes," said the old horse. "He means well. But I haven't done much work this year. He's got a younger team for plowing. I'm sort of pensioned off—only do odd jobs. You see, I'm getting pretty old— thirty–nine, you know."

"Are you, indeed?" said the Doctor. "You don't look it—nothing like it. Thirty–nine! Well, well! Yes, to be sure, now I recollect. You had your thirty–sixth birthday the same week I got you your spectacles. You remember the garden party we gave for you— in the kitchen garden—when Gub–Gub overate himself with ripe peaches?"

"Very well, I do. Ah, those were the days! Good, old Puddleby! But what's this animal you have with you," asked the plow horse as Sophie moved restlessly in the grass, "a badger?"

"No, that's a seal. Let me introduce you: this is Sophie, from Alaska. We're escaping from the circus. She has to go back to her country on urgent business, and I'm helping her get to the sea."

"Sh!" said Sophie. "Look, Doctor, there's the coach going by."

"Thank goodness for that!" murmured John Dolittle as the lights disappeared down the road.

"You know," said he, turning to the old horse again, "we've had a hard time getting even this far. Sophie has to keep concealed, and she can't walk much. We are making for the Kippet River, at Talbot's Bridge. We came by coach up to Shottlake, but we had to leave it. We were just wondering how we could continue our journey when you scared the life out of us behind that hedge."

"You want to get to Talbot's Bridge?" said the old horse. "Well, that should be easy. Listen; you see that barn up on the sky–line? Well, there's an old wagon in it. There's no harness but there's plenty of ropes. Let's run up there, and you can hitch me between the shafts, put your seal in the wagon and we'll go."

"But you'll get into trouble," said the Doctor, "taking your farmer's wagon off like that."

"My farmer will never know," said the old horse, grinning behind his spectacles. "You leave the gate on the latch as we go out and I'll bring the wagon back and put it where we found it."

"But how will you get out of your harness alone?"

"That's easy. If you knot the ropes the way I tell you, I can undo them with my teeth. I won't be able to take you the whole way, because I couldn't get back in time to put the wagon up before daylight comes. But I've got a friend about nine miles down the Grantchester Road, on the Redhill Farm. He gets put out to graze nights, like me. He'll take you the rest of the way. It'll be easy for him to get back to his place before any one's about."

"Old friend," said the Doctor, "you have a great head. Let's hurry and get on our way."

Then they climbed the hill to the barn. Inside they found an old wagon. The Doctor dragged it out. Then, getting down some ropes that hung coiled against the wall, he rigged up a kind of harness, with the help of an old collar, which he found thrown up in the manger. And when the plow horse had set himself between the shafts John Dolittle hitched him up, being careful to make all the knots exactly the way he was told.

"He rigged up a kind of harness"

Then he lifted Sophie into the wagon and they started off down the meadow towards the gate.

As they were going out the Doctor said:

"But suppose any one should meet me driving a wagon in a high hat? Wouldn't it seem sort of suspicious? Oh, look: there's a scarecrow in the next field. I'll borrow his hat."

"Bring the whole scarecrow with you," the old horse called after him as the Doctor started off. "I'll need something as a dummy driver when I'm coming back. Folks would stop me if they thought I was straying around the country without a driver."

"All right," said the Doctor and he ran off.

In a few minutes he came marching back with the scarecrow on his shoulder. Then he set the gate on the latch, so the old horse could push it open on his return, threw the scarecrow up into the wagon and climbed in himself.

"Came marching back with the scarecrow on his shoulder"

Next, he took the scarecrow's tattered hat and put in on his own head, in place of his high one. Then he got into the driver's seat, lifted the rope reins in his hands, called "Gee–up!" to his old friend between the shafts and they started off.

"You better keep your cloak and bonnet ready to slip on, Sophie," said he. "Somebody might ask for a ride. And if we are compelled to give any one a lift you'll have to be a lady again."

"I'd sooner be almost anything in the world than a lady," sighed Sophie, remembering the tickling veil. "But I'll do it if you say so."

Thus, driving his own farm–wagon coach, with a scarecrow and a seal for passengers, John Dolittle successfully completed the next stage in his strange journey. They passed very few people, and no one asked for a ride. They had one anxious moment, however, when a gentleman armed with pistols in his saddle–holsters galloped up on a very fine horse and asked if they had seen anything of a man and a veiled woman along the road.

The Doctor, sitting on top of Sophie, leaned on the side of his wagon, with his scarecrow hat pulled well down over his eyes.

"I saw a couple getting into a field a few miles back," he said, trying to talk like a yokel. "But I reckon they be a long ways from there by now."

"That'll be they, sure enough," said the man putting spurs to his horse: "Finch and Gresham the highwayman. They boarded the coach below Shottlake. But they got away before we could arrest them. Never mind, we'll get 'em yet. Good night!"

And he galloped off down the road.

"Poor Mr. Finch!" said the Doctor, as the old horse moved on. "I'm afraid we are not improving his reputation for him."

"It's a good thing I got you away from Shottlake," said the old horse. "I reckon that fellow will set the whole country busy hunting for you now."

"Their hunting won't do us any harm back at Shottlake," said the Doctor. "Good thing if they're kept busy. But I hope you don't get into trouble on your return to the farm."

"No, I don't suppose so," said the old horse. "Even if I'm seen they'll never guess how I got hitched up. Don't bother about me. I'll manage."

A little further on the plow horse stopped.

"This is Redhill Farm on the right," said he. "Wait till I call Joe."

Then he went close to the hedge beside the road and neighed softly. Presently there was a scampering of hoofs and his friend, a much younger horse, poked his head over the hawthorns.

"I've got John Dolittle here," whispered the plow horse. "He wants to get to Talbot's Bridge in a hurry. Can you take him?"

"Why, certainly," said the other.

"You'll have to use a wagon of your own," said the plow horse. "I must get mine back to the barn before my farmer wakes up. Got a cart or something anywhere about the place?"

"Yes, there's a trap up in the yard. It'll be faster than a wagon. Come over this side of the hedge, Doctor, and I'll show you where it is."

Then, hurrying lest daylight overtake them, they made the exchange. Madame Sophie was transferred from a farm wagon to a smart trap. The old plow horse, after an affectionate farewell from the Doctor, started back with his own wagon, driven by his scarecrow propped up on the front seat. At the same time John Dolittle and Sophie were carried at a good, swift pace in the opposite direction, towards the Kippet River.

It was not until some time afterward, when the Doctor revisited his old friend—in a way you will hear of later on—that he learned the story of that return journey which the plow horse made alone. About halfway back to his farm he met the gentleman with the pistols again, still galloping up and down the Grantchester Road, looking for Robert Finch, the highwayman. Recognizing the wagon and the driver whom he had met before, the rider stopped and asked some more questions. The driver of the wagon didn't answer. The man repeated his questions. Still the driver sat motionless in his seat, saying not a word. Growing at last somewhat suspicious, the horseman leaned forward in his saddle and pulled the hat off the driver's face.

"The horseman pulled the hat off the driver's face"

The face was made of straw and rags!

The horsemen, seeing he had been fooled, felt sure that the man who drove the wagon the first time he met it must have been the real highwayman, and that this scarecrow driver was just another of Finch's clever dodges to put the police on the wrong scent. Another wild story was added to the list of Finch's wonderful pranks—in one night he had passed himself off as a woman and as a scarecrow!

Then, to mix things up still more, that same day at two o'clock in the morning the real Robert Finch held up and robbed the Ipswich coach, more than a hundred miles away. And how he got across England to do it in that short time is still one of the great mysteries in the history of highway robbery. John Dolittle had been quite right when he said that they were adding to Finch's reputation!

On arriving at his own farm, the old horse found every one in a great state of excitement. People are rushing wildly up and down the fields with lanterns. The scarecrow had been missed—so had the old wagon, so had the old horse. The farm laborers were following the wheel tracks across the meadow. As soon as the plow horse reached the gate he was surrounded by a mob with lamps and guns, all guessing and advising and chattering at once. But his owner, thinking he had been stolen and harnessed by the highwayman, did not blame him for the adventure. And for long afterward he was visited in his pasture and pointed out by the village gossips as the horse who had been driven by Finch's scarecrow double.

In the meantime the Doctor and Sophie, in their trap, were spanking along the road in the direction of Talbot's Bridge. And, although the horseman (he was the County Constable's Assistant) galloped after them as hard as he could, he never overtook them, with the good start they had gained.

On reaching the river, the Doctor lifted Sophie out of the trap and dropped her over the bridge into the stream. Telling the Redhill horse to go back to his farm by a different way, lest he be met by the man again, John Dolittle leapt off the parapet of the bridge on to the bank. Then, while he ran along the stream beside her, Sophie, with gurgles of delight, plunged and darted through the river, catching all the fish she wanted on the way.

The Second Chapter To the Sea by River

As they had expected, John Dolittle and Sophie now found that the worst part of their troublesome traveling was over. For one thing, the constant anxiety of being seen worried them no longer. If they met any one on the banks of the stream Sophie just ducked under water till the danger was past, while the Doctor pretended he was fishing, with a willow wand for rod and a piece of string for line.

They still had a long way to go. The journey north to Talbot's Bridge, you see, had not brought them any nearer to the coast.

The country through which the Kippet flowed was changeful scenery, but always beautiful and pleasant. Sometimes it was flat, sedgy meadowland, where the banks were boggy; sometimes the streams run through little forests and the shores were overhung with alders; and sometimes it passed close by a farm with fords, where cattle drunk. At these places the travelers would either wait till nightfall, lest they be seen, or if the depth of the river permitted, Sophie would do her swimming underwater while the Doctor would go around by the roads and meet her further down.

While the going was, for the most part, easy for a seal, it was by no means always simple for the Doctor. The hundreds of hedges he had to get through, the walls he had to climb, the bogs he had to cross, made his part of the journey a hard and slow one. Sophie had to slacken her pace constantly and do a lot of loitering and waiting in order that he might keep up with her.

"Look here, Doctor," said she, about the middle of the second day when John Dolittle was resting on the bank, "it doesn't seem to me there is really any need for you to come further. This going is so easy for me I can do the rest of the journey by myself, can't I?"

"I think not," said the Doctor, lying back and gazing up at the willows over his head. "We don't know yet what sort of difficult places the river may run you into before it reaches the sea. We had better consult some other waterfowl, as the ducks said we should, before we go further."

Just at that moment a pair of fine bitterns flew down into the stream not far away and started feeding. The Doctor called them and they came up at once to his side.

"Would you please tell us," said John Dolittle, "how much further the river runs before it reaches the sea?"

"Counting all the bends and wiggles," said the bitterns, "about sixty miles."

"Dear me!" said the Doctor. "Then we are barely halfway yet. What kind of country does it pass through? This seal wishes to swim all the way to the coast, and we must avoid having people see her on the way."

"Well," said the birds, "you will have plain sailing for another ten miles yet. But after that there are several places pretty dangerous for a seal to travel. The first one is Hobb's Mill. It's a water mill, you understand, and the stream is dammed up with a high dam, a weir and a big water wheel. She'll have to leave the water at Hobb's Mill and join it again below."

"All right," said the Doctor. "we can do that, I imagine. Then, what's the next trouble?"

"The next is a town. It isn't a large one, but it has machinery buildings in it on the river bank. And the river is made to run into pipes to turn these machines, and if your seal went floating down the pipes she'd get all mixed up in the machinery."

"I understand," said the Doctor. "Then we'll have to go around the town by land—after dark."

"Go around to the right," said the bitterns—"to the northward. On the other side the machinery–men's houses spread out a long way.

"After that you'll be all right till you get very nearly to the sea. But there you will meet with another town—a port. Your seal can't possibly swim through that town because the river flows over many little waterfalls and rapids right where the houses and bridges are thickest. So as soon as you come in sight of the port you had better leave the stream again, and make for the seashore at some lonely place to the north of it. You won't have far to go, but you'll have to do some stiff climbing, for the coast thereabouts is all high cliffs. If you get safely past the port without being caught your troubles will be over."

"Well, thank you very much," said the Doctor. "This knowledge will not most helpful to us. Now, I think we had better be getting on our way."

Then after wishing John Dolittle good luck, the bitterns went back to their feeding, and the Doctor proceeded along the bank with Sophie swimming in the river. They reached Hobbs's Mill just as evening was coming on. As soon as the Doctor had explored around the buildings to see that all was quiet and nobody abroad, Sophie got out of the stream and hobbled across a couple of meadows and joined the river below the mill–race on the other side. There they waited till the moon rose, and soon, with sufficient light for the Doctor to see his way along the shore, they went on again.

"They reached Hobbs' Mill just as evening was coming on"

Coming in sight of the machinery town of which the bitterns had spoken, John Dolittle left Sophie with orders to duck under water if any one should pass that way, and went forward into the town to explore and get some food for himself.

Although most of the shops were shut at this hour, he managed to buy some sandwiches and fruit at a hotel. In making these purchases he noticed that his supply of money was getting very low. Indeed, he had only just enough to pay for what he had bought. However, never having bothered much about money, this did not disturb him. And after spending his last twopence to get his boots cleaned—they were frightfully muddy from all this boggy walking—he proceeded to explore a way for Sophie to come around the town by land.

The journey she would have to make on foot proved to be quite a long one. But the Doctor found a way over a chain of ponds, waterlogged meadows and a little brook which ran into the Kippet about two miles the other side of the town.

By the time he returned to Sophie the night was nearly passed, and they had to hurry to reach the river again before daylight came.

With Sophie safely back in the stream, John Dolittle decided he had better take a little sleep before going on. Sophie, too, was pretty weary, in spite of her anxiety to push on with all possible speed. So, asking a little moor–hen, who had her nest in the bank of the stream to mount guard and wake them on the approach of danger, they both took a nap—Sophie sleeping in the water, with her head poked out onto a stump, and the Doctor propped against a willow tree on the shore.

The sun was high in the heavens when he awoke, to find the moor–hen plucking at his sleeve.

"There's a farmer driving a team across the meadow," whispered the little bird. "He'll come right by here. He might not take any notice of you, but Sophie he couldn't miss. Get her to stick her head under the water. She's snoring like a foghorn, and I can't wake her up."

After the Doctor had made Sophie disappear beneath the water, and the danger of discovery was past, they started off once more and traveled all day and the following night toward the sea.

Gradually the landscape changed to a kind of scenery which, so far, they had not met with on their journey. The country, open turfy downs where sheep grazed, got rollier and hillier. And, finally, on the evening of the next day, they saw the lights of the seaport town twinkling in the distance. The land either side of it sloped upward to cliffs overlooking the Bristol Channel.

A little further down the stream roads ran either side of the river, presumably going into the town. Along these, every once in a while, coaches and carriages passed them on their way to the port.

Feeling that it would be unwise to go further by water, they now left the stream for the last time and hit out across country.

The Doctor made Sophie keep her bonnet on, and he had her cloak ready to throw over her at any minute, because there were many roads to cross, and farmhouses to pass upon the way.

About a mile had to be covered before they would reach the top of the long slope and come in sight of the sea beyond the cliffs. Picking out a line which would miss most of the barns on the downs, they proceeded steadily and slowly forward. On this upland country they met with many stone walls. And, though they were low enough for the Doctor to jump, they were too much for Sophie to manage and the Doctor had to lift her over.

She did not complain, but the uphill going was telling on her terribly. And when at last they came to a level stretch at the top, and the wind from the Channel beat in their faces, Sophie was absolutely exhausted and unable to walk another step.

The distance now remaining to the edge of the cliffs was not more than a hundred yards. Hearing the voices of people singing in a house near by, the Doctor began to fear that they might yet be discovered —even with the end of their long trip in sight. So, with poor Sophie in a state of utter collapse, he decided there was nothing for it but to carry her the remainder of the journey.

As he put the cloak about her he saw the door of the house open and two men come out. Hurriedly he caught the seal up in his arms and staggered with her toward the edge of the cliffs.

"Oh," cried Sophie when they had gone a few yards, "look, the sea! How fresh and nice it sparkles in the moonlight. The sea, the sea at last!"

"Yes, this is the end of your troubles, Sophie," the Doctor panted as he stumbled forward. "Give my regards to the herd when you reach Alaska."

At the edge John Dolittle looked straight downward to where the deep salt water swirled and eddied far below.

"Good–by, Sophie," he said with what breath he had left. "Good–by, and good luck!"

Then, with a last tremendous effort, he threw Sophie over the cliff into the Bristol Channel.

"He threw Sophie into the Bristol Channel"

Turning and twisting in the air, the seal sped downward—her cloak and bonnet, torn off her by the rushing air, floating more slowly behind. And as she landed in the water the Doctor saw the white foam break over her and the noise of a splash gently reached his ears.

"Well," he said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, "thank goodness for that! We did it, after all. I can tell Matthew that Sophie reached the sea and I didn't go to jail."

Then a cold shiver ran down his spine. A heavy hand had grasped his shoulder from behind.

The Third Chapter Sir William Peabody, J. P

John Dolittle, turning about slowly, found a large man grasping his collar. He wore some kind of a sailor–like uniform.

"Who are you?" asked the Doctor.

"Coastguard," said the man.

"What do you want? Let go of my coat."

"You're arrested."

"What for?"

"Murder."

While the Doctor was still trying to recover from his astonishment he saw more people coming across the downs from the lonely house which he had already noticed. When they came close he saw they were two men and a woman.

"Have you got him, Tom?"

"Yes. Caught 'im right in the act."

"What was it?"

"A woman," said the coastguard. "I grabbed him just as he threw her over the cliff. Jim, you run down to the station and get the boats out. You may be in time to save her yet. But I doubt it. I'll take him along to the quod. You come on down there or send me word, if you find anything."

"It'll be his wife," said the woman, peering at the Doctor in awe and horror. "Murdered his wife! You Bluebeard! Maybe he's a Turk, Tom —from Constanti–what–d'yer–call–it. They always throw their wives in the Phosphorus when they've done with 'em."

"'You Blue Beard!'"

"No, 'e ain't no Turk," said the coastguard. "'E talks English."

"Then he ought to be still more ashamed of 'is–self,' said the woman —"much more than if he'd been brought up to such habits—pore creature!" (She gazed over the edge of the cliff with a shudder.) "I wonder will they find 'er. Seems to me almost as though I could see something floating on the water down there. Pore creature! Well, that's the end of her troubles. Maybe she's better off than she was, married to him, the brute!"

"It wasn't my wife," said the Doctor sullenly.

"Who was it then?" asked the coastguard. "It was some women—'cause I seen you carrying her in your arms."

To this the Doctor decided, after a moment of thought, to say nothing. Now that he was arrested he would probably have to admit in the end that it was Sophie he had thrown into the sea. But until he was compelled in court to tell the whole story it seemed wiser to keep silence.

"Who was it?" the man repeated.

Still the Doctor said nothing.

"It was his wife all right," said the woman. "He has a wicked eye. I'll bet he has five or six wives stowed away somewhere—waiting for their doom, pore things."

"Well, he don't have to answer," said the coastguard. "It's my duty to warn you," he said very grandly, turning to the Doctor, "that anything you say may be used in evidence against you. Now let's go down to the court–house."

Fortunately for the Doctor it was by this time well on into the early hours of the morning. And when after crossing the downs they finally made their way into the town they found the streets deserted. The woman had not accompanied them. And the Doctor and his coastguard reached the court–house without meeting a single soul.

Just as they were about to enter the police station next door, Jim, the other coastguard man, ran up and joined his companion with Sophie's wet cloak on his arm and her bonnet in his hand.

"We couldn't find the body, Tom," said he, "but these clothes was floating at the foot of the cliff. I've left Jerry Bulkley in the boat still searching. I brought these down to you 'cause I thought you might want 'em."

"Yes, they'll be needed in evidence," said the other, taking the things from him. "Better go back and carry on with the search. I'll come and join you as soon as I've got the prisoner locked up."

Then the poor Doctor was taken into the police station; and after his name and various particulars about him were written down in a big book he was placed in a little stone cell with some bread and water and left to his meditations.

As the noise of the clanging door and rattling bolts died away John Dolittle noticed the gray light of dawn creeping in at a little barred window at his elbow.

"Heigh–ho!" he sighed, gazing round the bare stone walls. "Jail again! I congratulated myself too soon. I wonder was Matthew ever in this prison."

Where the morning sun fell in a patch upon the wall he noticed some letters and signs scratched in the stone by former prisoners. He crossed the cell and examined them. Among them he found a very badly made "M. M."

"He found a badly made 'M. M.'"

"Yes," he said, "Matthew's been here, too. Seems proud of it. Well, well—it's a funny world."

Picking up the loaf which had been provided for him, he broke it in half and ate a couple of mouthfuls. He was very hungry.

"What good bread!" he murmured. "Quite fresh. I must ask the jailer where he gets it. The bed isn't bad either," he added, punching the mattress. "I think I'll take a nap. Haven't had a decent sleep in I don't know how long."

Then he took his coat off, rolled it up for a pillow and lay down.

And when, about ten o'clock in the morning, the superintendent of police entered with a tall white–haired gentleman they found the prisoner stretched on his cot snoring loudly.

"Humph!" murmured the old gentleman in a low voice. "He doesn't look very dangerous, does he, Superintendent?"

"Ah," said the other, shaking his head, "it only shows you, Sir William, what a life of crime will do. Fancy being able to sleep like that after throwing his poor wife into the sea!"

"Well, leave us alone for a little while," said the older man. "Come back in about a quarter of an hour. And, by the way, you need not mention my visit here to any one—not for the present."

"Very good, Sir William," said the superintendent. And he went out locking the door behind him.

Then the white–haired old gentleman went over to the cot and stood looking down a moment into the Doctor's peaceful face.

Presently he shook the sleeper gently by the shoulder.

"Dolittle," he said. "Here—John, wake up!"

Slowly the Doctor opened his eyes and raised himself on his elbow.

"Where am I?" he said drowsily. "Oh, yes, of course, in jail."

Then he stared at the man who stood beside him. And at last a smile spread over his face.

"Heavens above! It's Sir William Peabody," said he. "Well, well, William! What on earth brings you here?"

"I might still more reasonably ask you how you come to be here," said the visitor.

"My goodness!" murmured the Doctor. "It must be fifteen years since I've seen you. Let me see: the last time was when we both got pretty angry—you remember?—arguing for and against fox hunting. Have you given it up yet?"

"No," said Sir William. "I still hunt two days a week. That's all I can manage now with my court duties and other things. They made me a Justice of Peace about five years ago."

"Well, it ought to be stopped," said the Doctor with great earnestness, "altogether. You can say what you like, but the fox is not given a square deal. One fox against dozens of dogs! Besides, why should he be hunted? A fox has his rights, the same as you and I have. It's absurd: a lot of grown men on horses, with packs of hounds, roaring across country after one poor little wild animal."

The old gentleman sat down on the bed beside the Doctor, threw back his head and laughed.

"Same old Dolittle," he chuckled. "Did any one ever see the like? In jail, charged with murder, the first thing he does when I come to see him is try and open a discussion about fox hunting. Ever since I've known you, John—even when you were a scrubby little boy at school studying beetles under a magnifying glass—you've been the same. Listen: I haven't come here to argue about the rights of foxes. As I told you, I'm a J. P. You're due to appear before me for examination in about an hour. What I want to hear is your version of this charge that is brought against you. You are accused of murdering your wife. I happened to notice your name on the police book. From what I remember of you, I can well understand your killing any woman who was mad enough to marry you. But the part I don't believe is that you ever had a wife. What's it all about? They tell me you were seen throwing a woman into the sea."

"It wasn't a woman," said the Doctor.

"What was it then?"

The Doctor looked down at his boots and fidgeted like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong.

"It was a seal," he said at last, "a circus seal dressed up as a woman. She wasn't treated properly by her keepers. And she wanted to escape, to get back to Alaska and her own people. So I helped her. I had the very dickens of a time bringing her across country all the way from Ashby. I had to disguise her as a woman so we could travel without arousing suspicion. And the circus folk were out after me. Then just as I got her here to the coast and was throwing her into the sea, so she could swim back to her native waters, one of your coastguard men saw me and put me under arrest.—What are you laughing about?"

Sir William Peabody, who had been trying to suppress a smile throughout the Doctor's story, was now doubled up with merriment.

"As soon as they said it was your wife," he gurgled when he had partly recovered, "I knew there was something fishy about it. And there was, all right! You do smell terribly."

"Seals have to smell of fish," said the Doctor in an annoyed tone. "And I was compelled to carry her part of the way."

"You'll never grow up, John," said Sir William shaking his head and wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Now tell me: how far back on this trip of yours were you and the lady you eloped with seen? Because although we can certainly get you out of charge of wife murder, it may not be so easy to clear you on the charge of stealing a seal. Were you followed down here, do you think?"

"Oh, no. We were not bothered by the circus folk after we got away from Ashby. Then at Shottlake we got taken for highwaymen and caused a little sensation when we traveled by coach. But after that nobody suspected anything till—till―"

"Till you threw your lady–love over the cliff," Sir William put in. "Did any one see you being brought in here?"

"No," said the Doctor. "No one down here knows anything about it except the three coastguardsmen and a woman—the wife of one of them, I suppose. The streets were quite empty when I was brought to the jail."

"Oh, well," said Sir William, "I think we can manage it. You'll have to stay here till I can get the charge withdrawn. Then get away from this part of the country as quick as you can."

"But what about the coastguard folk?" asked the Doctor. "Are they still hunting for the body?"

"No, they've given it up now," said Sir William. "They brought back your victim's cloak and bonnet. That was all they could find. We'll say you were just throwing some old clothes into the sea—which is partly true. When I explain matters to them they won't talk— and even if they do, it isn't likely their gossip will ever reach your circus people. But listen, Dolittle: do me a favor and don't bring any more menageries down here to throw over our cliffs, will you? It would get hard to explain if you made a habit of it. Besides you'll spoil the circus business. Now you stay here till I've fixed things up officially; and as soon as they let you out, get away from this district. Understand?"

"All right," said the Doctor. "Thank you. But listen, Will, about that fox hunting. Supposing you were in the fox's―—"

"No," said Sir William rising. "I refuse to re–open the argument now, John. I hear the superintendent coming back. We have too many foxes in this country. They need to be kept down."

"Quite a nice prison you have here, Will," said the Doctor as the superintendent opened the door. "Thanks for calling."

When Sir William and the superintendent had disappeared the Doctor fell to walking up and down his cell for exercise. He began to wonder how things were getting on with his household in his absence. And he was still thinking over the animals' idea of a reformed circus when, about half an hour later, a police–sergeant appeared at the door, extraordinarily polite and gracious.

"The superintendent presents his compliments, Doctor," he said, "and apologizes for the mistake that was made. But it was not our department's fault. It was the coastguards who made the arrest. Very stupid of them, very. The charge is now withdrawn, Sir, and you are free to go whenever you wish."

"Thank you," said the Doctor. "I think I'll go now. It's a nice prison you have here—almost the best I was ever in. Tell the superintendent he needn't apologize. I've had a most refreshing sleep—so well ventilated. It would make a splendid place for writing—undisturbed and airy. But unfortunately I have matters to attend to and must leave right away. Good day to you."

"Good day, Sir," said the sergeant. "You'll find the exit at the end of the passage."

At the front door of the police station the Doctor paused.

"My goodness!" he muttered. "I haven't any money to pay the coach back to Ashby. I wonder if Sir William would lend me a guinea."

And he turned back. But at the superintendent's office he was told that the Justice of Peace had gone off hunting for the day and wouldn't be back till to–morrow morning.

Once more he set out to leave the station. But at the door he paused again.

"I might as well take the rest of my loaf with me," he murmured. "It belongs to me after all—and I'll need it if I'm to get to Ashby without a penny in my pockets."

And he hurried back to his cell.

He found a policeman putting the place in order.

"Excuse me," said the Doctor. "Don't let me disturb your sweeping. I just came back for something I left behind me. Ah, there it is— my loaf! Thank you. Excellent bread you have here."

"'Excellent bread you have here'"

And after enquiring at the superintendent's office on the way out for the name of the baker who supplied the police station, John Dolittle sallied forth to freedom with half a loaf under his arm.

The Fourth Chapter Nightshade the Vixen

Penniless, but happy, the Doctor walked through the seaport town till he reached the market place in the center. At this point three big highways met: one from the North, one from the South and one from the East.

After admiring the Town Hall—it was a very beautiful and ancient building—the Doctor was about to set off along the road to the eastward. But he had not gone more than a pace or two before he paused, thinking. It occurred to him that it would be wiser if he found some other way to return to Ashby than that by which he had come.

He, therefore, changed his direction and swung off along the road to the South, intending to work his way back round to Ashby by some route where he would run no risk of meeting the people who had seen him in the coach or the Shottlake inn.

It was a pleasant morning. The sun was shining, sparrows chirping; and he felt as he strutted down the road with his loaf of bread under his arm that in such weather it was a pleasure to be alive.

Before long he had left the last houses of the town behind and found himself in the open country. About noon he came to a cross–roads where a sign post, pointing down a very pretty little country lane, read, "To Appledyke, ten miles."

"He came to a cross–roads"

"That looks a nice road," said the Doctor to himself. "And it runs in the right direction for me. I like the sound of Appledyke too."

So, although he was not very far yet from the seaport town which he had left, he struck off eastward along the country lane to Appledyke.

Soon he decided it was lunch time and looked about him for a brook where he might get a drink of clean water to wash down his dry–bread meal. Over to his right he saw a place where the land dipped downward into a hollow filled with trees and bushes.

"I'll bet there's a brook down there," the Doctor murmured. "It is certainly most delightful country, this."

Then he climbed over a stile and set off across the meadows which led down into the hollow.

He found his brook all right; and the banks of it, shaded by the trees, formed the most charming picnicking ground any one could wish for. After he had taken a drink the Doctor with a grateful sigh sank down on the grass at the foot of a spreading oak, took out his loaf and began to eat.

Presently he saw a starling hopping around near him, and he threw him some crumbs. While the bird was eating them the Doctor noticed that one of his wings seemed queer, and on examining it he found that the feathers were all stuck together with tar. The tar had hardened and the wing would not spread open the way it should. John Dolittle soon put it right and the bird flew off about his business. After his lunch the Doctor felt that before going on his journey he would like to rest a while in this pleasant spot. So he leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree and soon he fell asleep to the music of the murmuring brook.

When he awoke he found four foxes, a vixen with three cubs, sitting patiently beside him waiting till he should finish his nap.

"Good afternoon," said the vixen. "My name is Nightshade. Of course, I've heard a lot about you. But I had no idea you were in the district. I've often thought of coming all the way to Puddleby to see you. I'm awfully glad I didn't miss you on this visit. A starling told me you were here."

"Well," said the Doctor, sitting up, "I'm glad to see you. What can I do for you?"

"One of these children of mine," the vixen pointed toward her three round little cubs who were gazing at the famous Doctor in great awe, "one of the children has something wrong with his front paws. I wish you would take a look at him."

"Certainly," said the Doctor. "Come here, young fellow."

"He has never been able to run properly," said the mother as John Dolittle took the cub on his lap and examined him. "It has nearly cost us all our lives, his slow pace, when the dogs have been after us. The others can run beautifully. Can you tell me what's the matter with him?"

"Why, of course," said the Doctor, who now had the cub upside down on his knees with its four big paws waving in the air. "It's a case of flat feet. That's all. The muscles of the pads are weak. He can get no grip of the ground without good pad muscles. You'll have to exercise him morning and night. Make him rise on his toes like this: One, two! One, two! One, two!"

"'It's a case of flat feet'"

And the Doctor stood up and gave a demonstration of the exercise which in a person strengthens the arches of the feet and in a fox develops the muscles of the paw pads.

"If you make him do that twenty or thirty times every morning and every night I think you'll soon find his speed will get better," said the Doctor.

"Thank you very much," said the vixen. "I have the greatest difficulty making my children do anything regularly. Now you hear what the Doctor says, Dandelion: every morning and every night, thirty times, up on your toes as high as you can go. I don't want any flat–footed cubs in my family. We've always been—great heavens! Listen!"

The mother fox had stopped speaking, the beautiful brush of her tail straight and quivering, her nose outstretched, pitiful terror staring from her wide open eyes. And in the little silence that followed, from over the rising ground away off to the north–eastward, came the dread sound that makes every fox's heart stand still.

"The horn!" she whispered through chattering teeth. "They're out! It's th―th―the huntsman's horn!"

As he looked at the trembling creature John Dolittle was reminded of the occasion which had made him an enemy of fox–hunting for life— when he had met an old fox one evening lying half dead with exhaustion under a tangle of blackberries.

As the horn rang out again the poor vixen began running around her cubs like a crazy thing.

"Oh, what shall I do?" she moaned. "The children! If it wasn't for them I could perhaps give the dogs the slip. Oh, why did I bring them out in daylight to see you? I suppose I was afraid you might be gone if I waited till after dark. Now I've left our scent behind us, all the way from Broad Meadows, as plain as the nose on your face. And I've come right into the wind. What a fool I was! What shall I do? What shall I do?"

As the horn sounded the third time, louder and nearer, joined by the yelping of hounds in full cry, the little cubs scuttled to their mother and cowered under her.

A very firm look came into the Doctor's face.

"What pack is this?" he asked. "Do you know the name of it?"

"It's probably the Ditcham—their kennels are just the other side of Hallam's Acre. It might be the Wiltborough, over from Buckley Downs—they sometimes hunt this way. But most likely it's the Ditcham—the best pack in these parts. They were after me lats week. But my sister crossed my trail just below Fenton Ridge and they went after her—and got her. There's the horn again! Oh, what a fool I was to bring these children out in daylight!"

"Don't worry, Nightshade," said the Doctor. "Even if it's the Ditcham and the Wiltborough together, they're not going to get you to–day —nor your children either. Let the cubs get into my pockets— come on, hop in, young fellows—so. Now you, Nightshade, come inside the breast of my coat. That's the way—get further around toward the back. And you can stick your feet and your brush into the tail–pocket. And when I've buttoned it up like this—see?— you will be completely covered. Can you breathe all right back there?"

"Yes, I can breathe," said the vixen. "But it won't do us much good to be out of sight. The hounds can smell us—that's the way they run us down—with their noses."

"Yes, I know," said the Doctor. "But the men can't smell you. I can deal with the dogs all right. But you mustn't be seen by the men. Keep as still as a stone, all four of you—don't move or try to run for it, whatever happens."

And then John Dolittle, with his coat bulging with foxes in all directions, stood in a little clearing in the wooded hollow and awaited the oncoming of the Ditcham Hunt in full cry.

The mingled noises of the dogs, men, horns and horses grew louder. And soon, peeping through the crossing branches of his cover, the Doctor saw the first hounds come in view at the top of the ridge. For a moment the leaders paused and sniffed the wind. Then in a bee–line for the bottom of the hollow they came on down, stretched at full speed. Over the ridge and after them came the rest of the pack; and close behind the dogs rode the men, in red coats on fine, swift horses.

Ahead of most of the huntsmen galloped one man, old, lean and white–haired—Sir William Peabody, the Master of the Foxhounds. Half way down the slope he turned in his saddle and called to a man on a gray mare close behind him.

"Jones, they're making for the spinney. Don't let the leaders break into it before we've got it surrounded. Watch Galloway; he's rods ahead. Mind, he doesn't put the fox out the other side—Watch Galloway!"

Then the man on the gray mare spurted ahead, cracking a long whip and calling "Galloway! Here, Galloway!"

As the Doctor peered through the foliage he saw that the leading hound was now quite close. But, wonderfully trained to the huntsmen's command, Galloway suddenly slackened his pace within a few yards of the trees and remained, yelping and barking, for the others to come up.

Over the ridge more riders came pouring—fat parsons on stocky cobs, country squires on hacks, ladies on elegant, dainty thoroughbreds— all the gentry of the neighborhood.

"My goodness!" murmured the Doctor. "Was there ever anything so childish? All this fuss for a poor little fox!"

As the hounds, under the guidance of the men with long whips, spread, yelping, around all sides of the spinney, the people called and shouted to one another and the noise was tremendous.

"We'll get him," bellowed a fat farmer on a pony. "Hounds have gone all around now and scent don't go on. It's a killing, sure. Wait till Jones lets 'em into spinney. We'll get him!"

"Oh, no, you won't," the Doctor muttered, the firm look coming back into his face. "Not to–day, my fat friend—not to–day."

The dogs, impatient and eager, sniffed and ran hither and thither, waiting for permission to enter the little patch of woods and finish the hunt.

Suddenly a command was given and instantly they leapt the underbrush from all sides.

John Dolittle was standing in his clearing, with his hands over his pockets, trying to look all ways at once at the moment when the hounds broke in. But he had not known from which direction the vixen had entered and left her scent behind. And suddenly, before he knew it, four heavy dogs had leapt on his back, and he went down on the ground, simply smothered under a tangled pile of yelping, fighting foxhounds.

Kicking and punching in all directions, the Doctor struggled to his feet.

"Get away!" he said in dog language. "Lead the hunt somewhere else. This fox is mine."

The hounds, spoken to in their own tongue, now had no doubt as to who the little man was that they had knocked down.

"I'm awfully sorry, Doctor," said Galloway, a fine, deep–chested dog, with a tan patch over one eye. "We had no idea it was you. We jumped on you from behind, you know. Why didn't you call to us while we were outside?"

"How could I?" said the Doctor irritably, pushing away a dog who was sniffing at his pocket. "How could I—with you duffers making all that din? Look out, here come the huntsmen. Don't let them see you smelling around me. Get the pack out of here, Galloway, quick."

"All right, Doctor. But it smells to me as though you had more than one fox in your pockets," said Galloway.

"I've got a whole family," said the Doctor. "And I mean to keep them, too."

"Can't you let us have even one of them, Doctor?" asked the hound. "They're sneaky little things. They eat rabbits and chickens, you know."

"No," said the Doctor, "I can't. They have to get food for themselves. You have food given you. Go away—and hurry about it."

At that moment Sir William Peabody came up.

"Great heavens! Dolittle!" he exclaimed. "Haven't you left these parts yet? Did you see the fox? Hounds headed right down into this hollow."

"I wouldn't tell you, Will, if I had seen him," said the Doctor. "You know what I think of fox–hunting."

"Funny thing!" muttered Sir William as he watched the dogs lurching about among the brush uncertainly. "They can't have lost the scent, surely. They came down here as firm as you like. Curious!—oh, heavens! I know what it is: they've followed your rotten fish smell—the seal! Good Lord!"

At that moment a cry came from the huntsmen that the hounds had found another scent and were going off to the southward. Sir William, who had dismounted, ran for his horse.

"Hang you, Dolittle!" he shouted. "You've led the hounds astray. I should have kept you in jail."

The few dogs remaining within the spinney were now melting away like shadows. One of the fox cubs stirred in the Doctor's pocket. Sir William had already mounted his horse outside.

"Goodness, I forgot again!" muttered the Doctor. "I must get that guinea.—I say, Will!"

Then John Dolittle, his pockets full of foxes, ran out of the spinney after the Master of the Hunt.

"Listen, Will!" he called. "Would you lend me a guinea? I haven't any money to get to Ashby with."

Sir William turned in his saddle and drew rein.

"Sir William turned and drew rein"

"I'll lend you five guineas—or ten—John," said the magistrate, "if you'll only get out of this district and stop putting my hounds on false scents. Here you are."

"Thanks, Will," said the Doctor, taking the money and dropping it in his pocket on top of one of the cubs. "I'll send it back to you by mail."

Then he stood there by the edge of the spinney and watched the huntsmen, hallooing and galloping, disappear over the skyline to the southward.

"What a childish sport!" he murmured. "I can't understand what they see in it. Really, I can't. Grown men rushing about the landscape on horseback, catawauling* and blowing tin horns— all after one poor, little wild animal! Perfectly childish!"

The Fifth Chapter "The Dolittle Safety Packet"

Returning to the side of the brook within the shelter of the trees, the Doctor took the foxes out of his pocket and set them on the ground.

"Well," said the vixen, "I had often heard that you were a great man, John Dolittle, but I never realized till now what a truly marvelous person you were. I don't know how to thank you. I'm all overcome—Dandelion, get away from that water!"

"There is no need for thanks," said the Doctor. "To tell you the truth, I got quite a thrill myself out of diddling old Will Peabody —even if I did borrow money off him. I've been trying to get him to give up fox–hunting for years. He thinks that the hounds followed my scent down by mistake."

"Ah, they're not easily fooled, those dogs," said the vixen. "Galloway —that big beast who did all the talking—he's a terror. Nose as sharp as a needle. It's a poor lookout for any fox whose scent he crosses."

"But you've been hunted before and got away, haven't you?" asked the Doctor. "They don't always run the quarry down."

"That's quite true," said the vixen. "But we only escape by luck when weather conditions or some odd chance is in our favor. The wind, of course, is a terribly important thing. If the hounds pick up our scent to the windward and begin the hunt up–wind, as we call it, there's hardly any chance of our getting away—except when the country has plenty of cover and we've got start enough to come around and get behind them, where their scent blows toward us, instead of ours toward them. But the country is usually too open to give us a chance to do that without being seen."

"Humph!" said the Doctor. "I understand."

"Then sometimes," the vixen went on, "the wind will change when the hunt's in full cry. But such luck is a rare thing. Still, I remember one time when it saved my life. It was October, dampish weather— the kind the huntsmen like. There was a gentle breeze blowing. I was crossing over some meadows close to Thorpe Farm, when I heard them. As soon as I got their direction I saw I was on the bad side of the wind, and, out in flat, uncovered country, I was going to have a fiend of a run for it if I was to get away. I knew the neighborhood real well, and I said to myself as I let out at full gallop, 'Topham Willows. It's my only chance.'

"Now, Topham Willows was a big, dense patch of old neglected preserves about fifteen miles away to the West. It was the nearest decent over there was. But a long, long stretch of bare fields and downs lay between me and it. However if I once reached it I knew I'd be all right. Because it was brambly, tangly* and thick, no men or horses could enter it and it was too big to be surrounded by the pack.

"Well, I went away for all I was worth, hoping to lengthen my start on them at the outset. The hounds sighted me at once. And a 'View, hullo–o–a!' went up for the riders. Then the whole hunt came after me like the Devil on horseback. After that it was one long, steady, pounding, cruel run for fifteen miles. The only screens that lay this side of Topham Willows were a few low stone walls. And no fox would be fool enough to try and take cover behind them. I just leapt them on the run, and each time my brush topped the walls another 'View, hullo–o–a!' broke from the hunt.

"About three miles this side of the Willows I got a sort of cramp in my heart. My eyes went queer and I couldn't see straight. Then I stumbled over a stone. I got up and staggered on. Topham Willows was in sight, but my speed was going. I had opened the run with a pace too fast."

Nightshade, the vixen, paused in her story a moment, her ears laid back, her dainty mouth slightly open, her eyes staring fixedly. She looked as though she saw that dreadful day all over again, that long terrible chase, at the end of which, with a safe refuge in sight, she felt her strength giving out as the dogs of Death drew close upon her heels.

Presently in a low voice, she went on:

"It looked like the finish of me. The hounds were gaining—and with lots of breath left. And then!—suddenly the wind changed!

"'Gosh!' I thought to myself, 'if I only had a ditch or hedge handy now! I'd give them the slip yet! But, of course, in the open, in full view like that, scent didn't matter so much. I stumbled on. Then suddenly I noticed a ridge over to my left. On top of it were a few bracken patches—small, but quite a number of them, dotted about here and there. I changed direction, left the bee line on the Willows and made for the ridge. I still had a short lead on the dogs. I shot into the bracken, and for the first time in fourteen miles I was out of view from my enemies. Then I ran from patch to patch, leaving my scent all over the place. Next I raced off down the other side of the ridge, found a ditch leading toward the Willows, popped into it and doubled back in my old direction.

"By that time my pace was little better than a crawl, but, as I'd expected, as soon as I was out of sight the changing wind had got the dogs all confused. Peeping out of my ditch as I staggered along it toward the Willows, I saw them rushing from patch to patch among the bracken on top of the ridge. If the wind had been still blowing off me toward them, some of them would certainly have hit my trail down to the ditch, where the scent was hottest, and cut me off from the cover I was making for.

"But that short halt, while they fooled around among the bracken, trying to re–find the scent, gave me time to reach the cover I had come so far to find. And as I crept, blown and dead beaten, into the tangle of Topham Willows, I flung myself down to rest and thanked my lucky stars for the wind that changed—just in time to save my life."

"Well, well," said the Doctor, as the vixen ended her story, "that's very interesting. From what you say, I suppose that if one could only deal with the hounds' sense of smell it would always be easy for you to get away from them, eh?"

"Oh, of course," said the vixen. "In nearly all hunting country a fox could find enough cover to keep out of the reach of the dogs if it wasn't for their horribly keen noses. We nearly always hear them, or see them, a good way off—long before they see us. If you could only put the hounds on the wrong scent, the fox could get away every time."

"I see," said the Doctor. "Well, now I have an idea. Supposing a fox was made to smell like something else, instead of a fox—some strong smell which dogs didn't like—no pack of hounds would follow such a trail, would it?"

"No, I shouldn't think so—so long as they didn't know it was a fox that was carrying it. And, even then, maybe they wouldn't follow it if it was a smell they hated enough."

"That's just what I mean. Such a thing would be a scent–blind. It would—if we could only get it sufficiently powerful—entirely cover up your natural scent. Now, look here," said the Doctor, pulling a thick, black wallet out of his pocket, full of neat little bottles: "this is a pocket medicine case. Some of these medicines have a strong pungent smell. I'll let you sniff one or two … . Try this."

The Doctor pulled the stopper from one of the tiny bottles and held it to the vixen's nose. She started back after one sniff.

"My gracious!" she barked. "What a powerful odor. What's the name of it?"

"That's spirits of camphor," said the Doctor. "Now, try another. This is eucalyptus. Smell."

"'This is eucalyptus—smell!'"

The vixen put her nose to the second bottle. And this time she sprang back three feet with a yelp.

"Great heavens! It gets in your eyes! That's worse—and stronger yet. Cork it up, Doctor, quick!" she cried, rubbing her nose with her front paws. "It makes me weep tears."

"All right," said the Doctor. "But, listen: both these medicines, although they are so strong, are quite harmless—so long as you don't drink them. People use them for colds in the head and other things. That shows you. Now, do you suppose a dog would keep away from a smell like that?"

"I should say he would," Nightshade snorted. "He'd run a mile from it. Any dog who got a whiff of that wouldn't be able to smell straight for the rest of the day. Dogs have to be more particular about their noses—especially hunting dogs."

"Fine!" said the Doctor. "Now, look: when this little bottle is corked tightly and rolled in a handkerchief, so, no odor remains about it at all. See, you can take it in your mouth and carry it. Try—just to be sure that it's all right."

Gingerly the vixen took the rolled handkerchief, with the little bottle inside, in her mouth.

"You see?" said the Doctor, taking it back from her, "it's quite harmless and you can smell nothing while it is like that. But supposing you were to place the handkerchief on the ground and drop a heavy stone on top of it: the glass bottle inside would be broken, the medicine would run out and soak into the handkerchief and the smell would be very strong. You understand me so far?"

"Quite," said the vixen; "quite—Dandelion, stop playing with my tail. How can I attend to what the Doctor's saying? Go over to that tree and do your exercises."

"'Dandelion, stop playing with my tail!'"

"And then," John Dolittle went on, "if you were to lie down on the wet handkerchief and roll in it, you too would smell very strong— of the medicine. After that, I think, we could safely say that no hounds would follow you. For one thing, they wouldn't know what it was when they crossed your trail; and, for another, as you say, it is so strong that they'd run a mile to get away from it."

"They certainly would," said the vixen.

"Very well. Now, I'll give you one of these bottles. Which will you have? Would you prefer to smell of camphor or eucalyptus?"

"They're both pretty bad," said Nightshade. "Could you spare the two of them?"

"Certainly," said the Doctor.

"Thank you. Have you got two handkerchiefs, as well?"

"Yes. Here they are—a red one and a blue one."

"That's splendid," said the vixen. "Then I can make the cubs smell of camphor and myself of eucal—euca—"

"Eucalyptus," said the Doctor.

"It's a pretty name," said the vixen. "I'll call my other son that. I never could think of a nice name for him—Dandelion, Garlic and Eucalyptus."

"The three sons of Nightshade," added the Doctor, watching the round cubs gamboling over the roots of an oak. "Very pretty— has almost a Roman, a classic sound. But, listen: you must be very careful how you wrap the handkerchiefs around the bottles. If you don't do it properly you might get yourself cut by the broken glass inside. Make sure that the wrapping is thick and paddy. I've got a piece of string in my pocket. Perhaps I'd better wrap the bottles myself and tie them up for you."

Then John Dolittle fixed up the bottles in the proper manner and handed over his new invention, the fox's safety packets, to Nightshade, the vixen.

"Now, remember," he said, "to carry them always with you, and as soon as you hear the hounds smash them with a stone and get the medicine well soaked into your back. Then I think you'll be safe from any dogs—even from Galloway."

Well, John Dolittle, after the vixen and her family had thanked him many times for his kind services, left them with their new scent–destroyers and continued on his journey toward Ashby.

But he little guessed, as he made his way out of the hollow—and Nightshade, with her family, trotted off to their lair—what an important effect this new idea of his was to have.

That very evening, on their way homeward, the vixen and her cubs were scented by the hounds who were returning to that part of the country, after a fruitless afternoon's search for foxes.

As soon as she realized that the dogs were on her trail, Nightshade put her packages on the ground and kicked stones against them. Instantly the air was filled with powerful medicinal odors.

In spite of the fact that the smell made her eyes run tears, the vixen rolled in one, while she made the cubs soak themselves in the other.

Then, reeking like a chemist's shop, choking and gasping to get away from their own smell, the four of them raced off across a wide pasture toward home. The hounds, to the leeward, seeing them in the open, cut across from a field the other side of a hedge, hoping to head them off before they reached the bushes at the foot of the pasture.

For the hounds this was easy, because Nightshade, with the flat–footed Dandelion to look after, couldn't put out her full speed.

On came the dogs, the famous Galloway, as usual, in the lead. The huntsmen, seeing the chances of a kill after a dull day's sport, cheered and put spurs to their horses.

But in spite of the wind's being the wrong way, the leading dogs suddenly stopped within about five paces of their quarry.

"What's the matter with Galloway, Jones?" Sir William shouted to the man on the gray mare. "Look, he's sitting down, watching the foxes run away!"

Then suddenly the fitful evening wind swung to the eastward and blew a gust back toward the hunt. The pack, like one dog, turned tail and scattered, terrified, out of the pasture. Even the horses pricked up their ears and snorted through their noses.

"My heavens, what a stench!" cried Sir William. "Some chemical or other. What is it, Jones?"

But the man on the gray mare was galloping across country, trying to get his pack together, cursing and cracking his long whip.

"Cursing and cracking his long whip"

Peacefully and undisturbed, Nightshade reached her lair that night and put her cubs to bed. As she did so she kept murmuring to herself: "He's a great man—a very great man."

But the next day, when she went out to get food for her family, she met another fox. This neighbor, as soon as he smelt her, didn't even say good morning, but also ran, as if she were the plague.

Then she found her new odor something of an inconvenience as well as a blessing. None of her relatives would come near her, and she and her camphory–eucalyptus cubs were not allowed in any other foxes' lairs. But after a while it got around in fox society that Nightshade the vixen could go where she liked without ever being hunted by dogs. Then John Dolittle began to get requests by mysterious animal messengers for more eucalyptus. And he sent hundreds of little bottles, rolled in handkerchiefs, to that part of the world. Before long every single fox in the neighborhood was supplied with, and always carried, his "Dolittle Safety Packet" when he went abroad in the hunting season.

Well, in the end the result was that the famous Ditcham pack went out of existence.

"It's no use," Sir William said, "we can't hunt foxes in this district unless we can breed and train a pack of eucalyptus hounds. And I'll bet my last penny, it's Dolittle's doing. He always said he'd like to stop the sport altogether. And, by George! so far as this county is concerned, he's done it!"