"Don't be in a passion, Spriggs," said Grubb, laughing.

"Me in a passion?--I'm not in a passion--I'm on'y--on'y--nettled!"
replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking
warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part
of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of
a poodle.

They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that
they could not avoid hitting it.--Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed
the report.

"Ve've done him!" cried Spriggs.

"Ve!--me, if you please."

"Vell--no matter," replied his chum, "you shot a bird, and I shot
too!--Vot's that?--my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin;
--bolt!"

Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he reached
a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself literally upon
tenter-hooks.

"There's a man a coming, old fellow," said an urchin, grinning.

"A man coming! vich vay? do tell me vich vay?" supplicated the sportsman.
The little rogue, however, only stuck his thumb against his snub
nose--winked, and ran off.