"Dead as nits," said Spriggs.

"Don't be in an hurry now," said the cautious Mr. Grubb, "ve don't know
for certain yet, vot ve hav'n't hit."

"It can't be nothin' but a balloon then," replied Spriggs, "for ve on'y
fired in the hair I'll take my 'davy."

Turning to the right and the left and observing nothing, they boldly
advanced in order to appropriate the spoil.

"Here's feathers at any rate," said Spriggs, "ve've blown him to shivers,
by jingo!"

"And here's a bird! hooray!" cried the delighted Grubb--"and look'ee,
here's another--two whole 'uns--and all them remnants going for nothing
as the linen-drapers has it!"

"Vot are they, Dick?" inquired Spriggs, whose ornithological knowledge
was limited to domestic poultry; "sich voppers ain't robins or sparrers,
I take it."

"Vy!" said the dubious Mr. Richard-resting on his gun and throwing one
leg negligently over the other--"I do think they're plovers, or larks, or
summat of that kind."

"Vot's in a name; the thing ve call a duck by any other name vould heat
as vell!" declaimed Spriggs, parodying the immortal Shakspeare.

"Talking o' heating, Spriggs--I'm rayther peckish--my stomick's bin