It was a miserable-looking place with a pigsty and a dung
heap and a small horse-pond or duck-puddle all close around it. The
stack of chimneys seemed to threaten to fall, and as he approached
from behind he could see that the two windows opening that way were
stuffed with rags. There was a little cabbage garden which now
seemed to be all stalks, and a single goose waddling about the
duck-puddle. The Senator went to the door, and having knocked, was
investigated by a woman from behind it. Yes, this was Goarly's
house. What did the gentleman want? Goarly was at work in the
field. Then she came out, the Senator having signified his friendly
intentions, and summoned Goarly to the spot.
"I hope I see you well, sir," said the Senator putting out his hand
as Goarly came up dragging a dung-York behind him.
Goarly rubbed his hand on his breeches before he gave it to be
shaken and declared himself to be "pretty tidy, considering."
"I was present the other day, Mr. Goarly, when that dead fox was
exposed to view."
"Was you, sir?"
"I was given to understand that you had destroyed the brute."
"Don't you believe a word on it then," said the woman interposing.
"He didn't do nothing of the kind. Who ever seed him a' buying of
red herrings and p'ison?"
"Hold your jaw," said Goarly,--familiarly.
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