Such a cackling and screeching as arose! and with it one dying gobble, and a very loud “Hollo! you rascal!”
“My eyes! you’ve been and gone and done it!” cried Osmond.
“Cut! cut!” screamed Martin; and Hal, not exactly knowing what he had done, but sure that it was something dreadful, and hearing voices in pursuit, threw down the gun, and took to his heels; but the others had the start of him, and were over the gap long before he could get to it. And even as he did reach it, a hand was on his throat, almost choking him, and a tremendous voice cried, “You young poacher, you sha’n’t get off that way! I’ll have you up to the Bench, that I will, for shooting the poor old turkey-cock before my very eyes.”
“Oh! don’t, don’t! I didn’t mean it,” cried Hal, turning in the terrible grip; “I thought it was only a rook!”
“A rook, I dare say! And what business had you to think, coming trespassing here on my ground, and breaking the hedges! I’d have you up for that, if for nothing else, you young vagabond!”
“Oh, don’t, don’t! I’m Henry Merrifield!”
“I don’t care if you’re Henry Merry Andrew!” said Farmer Grice, who was a surly man, and had a grudge of long standing against the Captain, for withstanding him at the Board of Guardians. “I’ll have the law out of you, whoever you are.”
“But—but—Mamma is so very ill!” cried Hal, bursting into tears.
“The more shame for you to be rampaging about the country this fashion,” said the farmer, giving him a shake that seemed to make all his bones rattle in his skin. “Serve you right if I flogged you within an inch of your life.”
“Oh, please don’t—I mean please do—anything but have me up to the magistrates! I’ll never do it again, never!” sobbed Henry in his terror.