Then the brown-faced man placed something covered with green baize-cloth in the centre of the net, and, having carefully examined his apparatus, he uncoiled a long line, which was looped and run within the edges of the net.
He then raised the green baize, disclosing a goldfinch in a wire cage.
“My eye, he’s an artful old buffer, and knows his way about!” murmured Alf.
The man glanced around.
“Blessed if I didn’t hear a voice, or somethin’ of the sort,” he ejaculated.
He adjusted the lines of his net, and looked up at the sky—then he glanced around once more.
“Holloa, you, sir, what are you a doing there? Want to frighten the birds—eh?” he exclaimed, catching sight of the boy for the first time.
“I hope I aint in the way, or a doing any harm,” cried Alf, in a beseeching tone. “I’m only doing the looking-on part. I hope you don’t mind, please, sir?”
“Umph,” returned the man, with a puzzled expression of countenance, “you’ve been ’nation quiet, my young bloke. I didn’t know there was a soul about; but, look here, my lad, I’d rather you shift your quarters if it don’t make any difference to you, ’cos why it’s like enough you’ll frighten the birds away if you stop there.”
“All right, guv’nor, I’ll go wherever you like.”