was found in the
holidays by the matron, a grewsome body.

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and the
bold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an example
of the first boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched
behind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were approaching all
unconscious.

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the hedge just at this
particular moment of all the year? Who can say? Guinea-fowls always
are--so are all other things, animals, and persons, requisite for
getting one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can come of
them. At any rate, just under East's nose popped out the old guinea-hen,
scuttling along and shrieking "Come back, come back," at the top of her
voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have withstood the
temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has in his hand at
her, and then rushes to turn her into the hedge again. He succeeds, and
then they are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full
cry, the "Come back, come back," getting shriller and fainter every
minute.

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creep down
the hedge towards the scene of action. They are almost within a stone's
throw of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom
catches sight of them, and sings out, "Louts, 'ware louts, your side!
Madman, look ahead!" and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries him away
across the field towards Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been by
himself, he would have stayed to see it out with the others, but now his
heart sinks and all his pluck goes. The idea of being led up to the
Doctor with Arthur for bagging fowls, quite unmans and takes half the
run out of him.

However, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East and
Martin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gap, and come pelting
after Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time; the farmer and his
men are making good running about a field behind. Tom wishes to himself
that they had made off in any other direction, but now they are all in
for it together, and must see it out. "You won't leave the young 'un,
will you?" says he, as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind
from the fright, through the next hedge. "Not we," is the answer from
both. The next hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly on them,
and they only just pull Arthur through,