TOM BROWN'S
"Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!" groaned East, holding a bagful in his hand and looking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half plucked.
"And I do think he's getting high, too, already," said Tom, smelling at him cautiously, "so we must finish him up soon."
"Yes, all very well; but how are we to cook him? I'm sure I ain't going to try it on in the hall or passages; we can't afford to be roasting ducks about—our character's too bad."
"I wish we were rid of the brute," said Tom, throwing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or two more it became clear that got rid of he must be; so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and put him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he 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 toward the scene of action. They are
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