Well, I went. Tom shot when I wasn't more than four yards from him, and
the whole charge passed like a bullet between my hind legs and struck
the ground under my stomach, sending up such a shower of earth and
stones that I was knocked right over.

"I've hit it!" yelled Tom, as he crammed another cartridge into his
single-barrelled gun.

By the time that it was loaded I was quite thirty yards away and going
like the wind. Tom lifted the gun.

"Don't shoot!" roared the Red-faced Man.

"Mind that there boy!" bellowed Giles.

I was running down between two rows of turnips and presently butted into
a lad who was bending over, I suppose to pick up a partridge. At any
rate his tail--"do you call it his tail, Mahatma?"

"That will do," I answered.

"Well, his tail was towards me; it looked very round and shiny. The shot
from Tom's gun hit it everywhere. I wish they had all gone into it, but
as he was so far away the charge scattered and six of the bullets struck
me. Oh! they did hurt. Put your hand on my back, Mahatma, and you will
feel the six lumps they made beneath the grey tufts of hair that grew
over them, for they are still there."

Forgetting that we were on the Road, I stretched out my hand; but, of