ey ventured to wheel about and breathe again.

"Vell, if this 'ere ain't a rum go!"--said Spriggs--"in four shots--ve've
killed a pig--knocked the life out o' one dicky-bird--and put a whole
charge into a calf. Vy, if ve go on at this rate we shall certainly be
taken up and get a setting down in the twinkling of a bed-post!"

"See if I haim at any think agin but vot's sitting on a rail or a post"
--said Mr. Richard--"or s'pose Spriggs you goes on von side of an 'edge
and me on t'other--and ve'll get the game between us--and then--"

"Thankye for me, Dick," interrupted Spriggs, "but that'll be a sort o'
cross-fire that I sha'n't relish no how.--Vy it'll be just for all the
world like fighting a jewel--on'y ve shall exchange shots--p'r'aps
vithout any manner o' satisfaction to 'ither on' us. No--no--let's shoot
beside von another--for if ve're beside ourselves ve may commit suicide."

"My vig!" cries Mr. Grubb, "there's a covey on 'em."

"Vere?"

"There!"

"Charge 'em, my lad."

"Stop! fust charge our pieces."

Having performed this preliminary act, the sportsmen crouched in a dry
ditch and crawled stealthily along in order to approach the tempting
covey as near as possible.

Up flew the birds, and with trembling hands they simultaneously touched
the triggers.

"Ve've nicked some on 'em."

"Dead as nits," said Spriggs.

"Don't be in an hurry now," said the cautious Mr. Grubb, "ve don't know
for certain yet, vot ve hav'n't hit."

"It can't be nothin' but a balloon then," replied Spriggs, "for ve on'y
fired in the hair I'll take my 'davy."

Turning to the right and the left and observing nothing, they boldly
advanced in order to appropriate the spoil.

"Here's feathers at any rate," said Spriggs, "ve've blown him to shivers,
by jingo!"

"And here's a bird! hooray!" cried the delighted Grubb--"and look'ee,
here's another--two whole 'uns--and all them remnants going for nothing
as the linen-drapers has it!"

"Vot are they, Dick?" inquired Spriggs, whose ornithological knowledge
was limited to domestic poultry; "sich voppers ain't robins or sparrers,
I take it."

"Vy!" said the dubious Mr. Richard-resting on his gun and throwing one
leg negligently over the other--"I do think they're plovers, or larks, or
summat of that kind."

"Vot's in a name; the thing ve call a duck by any other name vould heat
as vell!" declaimed Spriggs, parodying the immortal Shakspeare.

"Talking o' heating, Spriggs--I'm r