s, you do, sir. Don't he, Mr Burr junior?"

"No," I said; "and if you ever have the impudence to say so again, I'll
tell Bob Hopley to give you another thrashing."

The gipsy-looking fellow's dark eyes flashed.

"He'd better touch me again," he cried fiercely. "He'd better touch me
again. Did you two see?"

"Yes, we saw," said Mercer. "I say, he did make you cry chy-ike."

"He'd better touch me again."

"He will," I said, "if you go hanging about after Polly Hopley."

"What, did he tell you that?"

"No," I said, "we knew well enough. Bob Hopley didn't say a word. Only
called it poaching."

Magglin's manner changed directly, and in a snivelling, whining way he
began,--

"Well, I can't help it, young gen'lemen. I'm 'bliged to go there, and
nothing I can do's good enough for her. If I give her anything, she
chucks it at me, because it aren't good enough."

"I should think not, indeed," said Mercer. "What decent girl's going to
listen to such a ragged scaramouche as you are?"

"Well, I can't help it, young gen'lemen."

"Yes, you can. Go to work like a man, and grow respectable," I said.
"I should be ashamed to idle about as you do."

"Why, aren't you two always idling about?"

"No. We do our work first," I said.

"I say, Magg, here comes Bob Hopley!" cried Mercer mischievously.

The poacher gave a quick glance up the lane in the direction from which
we had come, caught sight of the keeper's velveteen coat, and shot into
the copse and was gone.

"I don't wonder at Bob thrashing him," I said.

"No," replied Mercer, as we went on. "I shall never deal with him
again. If I want a bird or anything, I shall ask Bob Hopley. He's a
man, he is. If you give him anything, he says, `Thank-ye,' and if you
don't, he never seems to mind. He knows boys haven't always got any
money. I wish Magglin would go right away."

The conversation turned then upon the coming cricket match; after which
we dropped in upon Lomax, and talked to him about boxing, and I pleased
him very much by telling him how satisfied my uncle had been at the way
I had learned to ride a horse; when, with his eyes twinkling, the old
soldier took a letter from his chimney-piece, and opened it to show me
my uncle's words, thanking him for the way he, an old soldier, had
trained the son of a soldier, and enclosing a five-pound note.

"For a rainy day, Master Burr," he said. "I've clapped that in the
bank."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.