The
marauder's line of retreat seemed to have embraced most of the flower
beds on the lawn, but the strawberry beds in the lower garden had also
suffered.
"I shall get the otter hounds to come here at the earliest possible
moment," said Egbert savagely.
"On no account! You can't dream of such a thing!" exclaimed Amanda. "I
mean, it wouldn't do, so soon after a funeral in the house."
"It's a case of necessity," said Egbert; "once an otter takes to that
sort of thing it won't stop."
"Perhaps it will go elsewhere now there are no more fowls left,"
suggested Amanda.
"One would think you wanted to shield the beast," said Egbert.
"There's been so little water in the stream lately," objected Amanda; "it
seems hardly sporting to hunt an animal when it has so little chance of
taking refuge anywhere."
"Good gracious!" fumed Egbert, "I'm not thinking about sport. I want to
have the animal killed as soon as possible."
Even Amanda's opposition weakened when, during church time on the
following Sunday, the otter made its way into the house, raided half a
salmon from the larder and worried it into scaly fragments on the Persian
rug in Egbert's studio.
"We shall have it hiding under our beds and biting pieces out of our feet
before long," said Egbert, and from what Amanda knew of this particular
otter she felt that the possibility was not a remote one.
On the evening preceding the day fixed for the hunt Amanda spent a
solitary hour walking by the banks of the stream, making what she
imagined to be hound noises.
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