off your 'edge," said he to a gardener, who was leaning on his spade and
holding his right leg in his hand.

"You fool," cried the horticulturist, "you've done a precious job--You've
shot me right in the leg--O dear! O dear! how it pains!"

"I'm werry sorry--take the bird for your pains," replied Grubb, and
apprehending another pig in a poke, he bobbed down and retreated as fast
as his legs could carry him.

"Vot's frightened you?" demanded Spriggs, trotting off beside his chum,
"You ain't done nothing, have you?"

"On'y shot a man, that's all."

"The devil!"

"It's true--and there'll be the devil to pay if ve're cotched, I can tell
you--'Vy the gardener vill swear as it's a reg'lar plant!--and there
von't be no damages at all, if so be he says he can't do no work, and is
obleeged to keep his bed--so mizzle!" With the imaginary noises of a hot
pursuit at their heels, they leaped hedge, ditch, and style without
daring to cast a look behind them--and it was not until they had put two
good miles of cultivated land between them and the spot of their
unfortunate exploit that they 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!"