old party, like all fish-eating muggers, and he could not bear noise and commotion. He didn't really like it even when his old pals, the villagers, used to come and wash their clothes at the ford and beat them on the stones. . . .
"You should have heard Fido. I heard him miles away. I was staying with the Collector and he was touring in that part of the district.
"‘Sounds as though some one has trod on a pi-dog's toe,' said I to him, as we rode toward Soni.
"‘Sounds as though they're still standing on it,' said he, as the pleasing sounds continued. Then we saw the sight.
"There was the Travelling M.P. on the machan with a look of great determination, a rifle, and a lot of flies, staring hard along his sights at Fido. Under the machan sat the headman, thinking of good Lucy Gray, but looking happier than you might have expected. . . .
"‘What's up?' said the Collector, as we rode to the spot.
"‘I am heah devoting my time to ridding this village of a Scourge,' was the reply. 'This ford
