for security. But ignorance of the locality led them into the
midst of a village, and the stentorian shouts of the pig-bearer soon
bringing a multitude at their heels, Mr. Richard Grubb was arrested in
his flight. Seized fast by the collar, in the grasp of the butcher and
constable of the place, all escape was vain. Spriggs kept a respectful
distance.

"Now my fine fellow," cried he, brandishing his staff, "you 'ither pays
for that 'ere pig, or ve'll fix you in the cage."

Now the said cage not being a bird-cage, Mr. Richard Grubb could see no
prospect of sport in it, and therefore fearfully demanded the price of
the sucking innocent, declaring his readiness to 'shell out.'

Mr. Stubbs, the owner, stepped forward, and valued it at eighteen
shillings.

"Vot! eighteen shillings for that 'ere little pig!" exclaimed the
astounded sportsman. "Vy I could buy it in town for seven any day."

But Mr. Stubbs was obdurate, and declared that he would not 'bate a
farden,' and seeing no remedy, Mr. Richard Grubb was compelled to 'melt a
sovereign,' complaining loudly of the difference between country-fed and
town pork!

Shouldering his gun, he joined his companion in arms, amid the jibes and
jeers of the grinning rustics.

"Vell, I'm blowed if that ain't a cooler!" said he.

"Never mind, ve've made a hit at any rate," said the consoling Spriggs,
"and ve've tried our metal."

"Yes, it's tried my metal preciously--changed a suv'rin to two bob! by
jingo!"

"Let's turn Jews," said Spriggs, "and make a vow never to touch pork
again!"

"Vot's the use o' that?"

"Vy, we shall save our bacon in future, to be sure," replied Spriggs,
laughing, and Grubb joining in his merriment, they began to look about
them, not for fresh pork, but for fresh game.

"No more shooting in the grass, mind!" said Grubb, "or ve shall have the
blades upon us agin for another grunter p'r'aps. Our next haim must be
at birds on the ving! No more forking out. Shooting a pig ain't no lark
--that's poz!"

CHAPTER III.

The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure--Grubb gets on a paling and runs a
risk of being impaled.

"Twig them trees?"--said Grubb.

"Prime!" exclaimed Spriggs, "and vith their leaves ve'll have an hunt
there.--Don't you hear the birds a crying 'sveet,' 'sveet?' Thof all
birds belong to the Temperance Society by natur', everybody knows as
they're partic'larly fond of a little s'rub!"

"Think ve could leap the ditch?" s