and followed him and his dog through a shrubbery walk, underneath tall beeches, which formed a boundary to the rectory-garden.
“It is,” he said, “a bad time of year for truffles, for they won’t grow till rain comes; but, at any rate, you’ll see how the dog finds ’em.”
He whistled as he spoke, and up trotted his dog with a very friendly air, and was introduced to me by the name of “Nelly.” He assured me she was one of the cleverest of the race, and was never known to fail, and certainly she had an intelligent clever face, with bright black eyes, looking all ways at once, and sharp-pointed ears, always on the alert, and never quiet for one moment. The nose was sharp-pointed, and the whole face reminded me of the expression of a small quick terrier, only far more gentle and clever. I remarked on the clean-made limbs, and the long paws, which seemed made for scratching, and was assured of her strength and unwearied zeal in hunting for this peculiar kind of game. This dog was smooth-coated, white, with liver-coloured spots; but the generality have rather curly hair, a remnant of the poodle, from which these dogs are said to have been bred. While patting Mrs. Nell, and coaxing her to become friendly with me on our way, her master told me how particular they were in keeping their breed distinct.
“The French truffles he did hear say were hunted formerly by pigs, which had latterly been given up for poodles.”
“Your dogs, then,” I said, “are descended from these French poodles, as I think you said they came from abroad?”
“No, sir. They are a cross of the Spanish poodle, and were brought here from Spain, as all the village know.”
He forthwith related the following tradition of the origin of truffle-hunting in these parts; ending with the assertion that it must be true, “’cos my grandfather had told it to my father, and my father over and over again to me, and so we knows the dogs must be Spanish.” To which proof I of course had nothing to say.
“It was in my grandfather’s time that a ‘furrinner’ came to these parts with several dogs, couldn’t speak English, and bided in one of our farmer’s barns down there. Soon he began to hunt for truffles, and after a bit, when he had picked up English, told our folks he was Spanish, and his dogs, too, and taught my grandfather and others to hunt for ’em. He made a power of money, and they do say left it to the farmer in whose barn he slept, and that’s how farmer B got his riches. How that may be, I can’t say, but certain he left his dogs to grandfather and I, and that’s how we got the breed and learnt truffle-hunting, for before that nothing was known about ’em or where they growed.”
My friend had just finished his story as we entered the shrubbery, and drew near to trees which my guide declared to be “friendly” to the truffle. We then left the path, and made our way through bushes and underwood, until we came to a hedge on one side, and the trunks of fine beeches on the other. I was so much occupied in forcing my way through thorny brambles and opposing branches, and also in observing how the brilliant rays of an August sun lighted up the massive boles of the beeches, and then lost themselves in the hazel thickets, or the sombre foliage of the yews, that I was hardly aware that our dog was running before us with her nose to the ground, as keen and eager as a terrier after a rat. Suddenly she completely aroused me from my reverie by appearing to have gone out of her dog’s mind; as, merely encouraged by a whistle from her master, or a “here, Nell, here them,” she rushed through some bushes so quickly that I could hardly keep her in sight, and stopping all at once close to a beech tree, began, without a moment’s hesitation, not only to push up the earth with her nose, but to scratch it up with her fore-paws as hard as she could.
“What is the dog about?” I asked, half-bewildered; but I was answered directly by the man stooping down, and picking up something whilst he said:
“Well done, Nell,” and at the same moment he placed in my hand a real English truffle, smelling strongly, according to its peculiar nature.
The dog was off again directly, and found four more within ten minutes of the first, and one or two rather deeper down in the soil, so that it required a little help from my companion’s stick to get them up. I afterwards found that they carry a little spade with them, which the truffler uses when his dog is unable to scratch up this curious fungus with his paws.
All the time that the hunt lasted, Nelly was extremely excited and agitated, now smelling them out with unerring instinct, then scratching them up with the greatest delight, which she showed by wagging violently her short tail, and by fetching and carrying them at the bidding of her master. She glided through the thick bushes and underwood in a marvellous manner, and as every truffle-dog has his tail docked when a puppy to prevent any impediment in their hunting through bushes, little Nell was able to agitate hers as violently as she liked, without any fear of being caught by it in the boughs.
The most wonderful proof of her sagacity was in her scenting out and scratching up two of the red truffles, which were so tiny that, unless she had carried them in her mouth to her master, we should not have remarked them, though the place was pointed out to us by her scratching. Whilst I was wondering how these dogs could ever be trained to hunt for what appeared so foreign to their nature, and turning over in my hand one of these shapeless fungi, the others being safely placed in my pocket, I felt something cold touch me; and lo and behold! there was mistress Nell standing up on her hind legs in an endeavour to truffle-hunt in my pocket, but soon recalled to her usual good manners by an imperative “Nell,” from her master.
“Would she have eaten them?” I said, surprised.
“Oh dear yes, dogs likes ’em beyond everything else; it’s their food, only we don’t let them have any, as it would spoil their training. But that’s why they hunt for ’em, they want to eat ’em. A good dog will hunt, however, all day without touching them, but we generally carry