Must have been something different about folk then.
However, this
here dog was desperate clever at it. As I was telling you, I dug through
them mounds; couldn't find no coins or anything; so I heard of a big
archaeologist chap that was writing a new book about the antiquities of
the country, and I wrote to him about it, and he said he would come and
see them. The day he come was rather roughish and cold: he seemed sort of
bad when he come into the house, and had to have some brandy. By-and-by
he got better, and out we started; but just as we was going through the
yard this old dog nips him by the hand - took him right through his
hand - made him look main straight. However, washed his hand and bound it
up, and started out again. (Chuckle.) Hadn't gone very far, and was
getting through a hedge, and dalled if he didn't fall into the pond,
flop! (Chuckle.) I suppose he didn't like it, for he never said nothing
about the mounds in his book when it come out - left'em out altogether.'
This pond still exists, and Mr. Nestor Hay had noted a curious thing
about it. Across the middle of the pond a tree had fallen; it was just on
a level with the surface of the water. A pair of water-rats always ate
their food on this tree. They would go out into the grass of the meadow,
bite off the vegetation that suited their taste, and carry it back in
their mouths to the tree, and there eat it in safety, with water, as it
were, all round them like a moat.
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