“If that ’ere blessed old sack is discovered, it’s a case of pickles,” said the gipsy; “and I aint at all sartin, mind yer, that it won’t be.”
“Neither am I,” returned Peace; “but it’s better to lose the goods than be pinched.”
“Look here!” cried Bill. “Two heads are better than one. Let’s go back, and I’ll put you up to a move.”
Peace, who was hankering after stolen goods, did as his companion desired; he went back to the hedge.
The gipsy commenced gathering some green stuff a thing he had been accustomed to do when leading a wandering life among the gipsies.
“What is all this for?” said Peace.
“You shall see,” returned his companion, who, after gathering an armful of the green stuff, crammed the same into the mouth of the sack, and made it appear as if it was full of the same stuff.
“Now do you understand?” cried Bill.
Peace nodded. “I see,” he said.
“If anyone asks what you have got, tell ’em as bold as brass that you’ve got green meat for your rabbits, guinea pigs, and such like.