Mr. Grice had some pity, and also knew that his wife and all the neighbours would be shocked at his prosecuting so young a boy, whose parents were in such distress. So he said, “There, then, I’ll overlook it this time, sir, so as I have the value of the bird.”
“And what is the value—” asked Henry, trembling.
“Value! Why, the breed came from Norfolk; he was three years old; and my missus set great store on him, he was as good as a house-dog, to keep idle children out of the yard; and it was quite a picture to see him posturing about, and setting up his tail! Value! not less than five-and-twenty shillings, sir.”
“But I have not five-and-twenty shillings. I can’t get them,” said Hal, falling back into misery.
“You should have thought of that before you shot poor old Tom Turkey!” quoth Farmer Grice.
“But what in the world shall I ever do?” said Henry.
“That’s for you to settle, sir,” said the farmer, taking up the unlucky gun. “I shall take this, and keep it out of further harm.”
“Oh pray, pray!” cried Henry. “It is not my gun; it is Mr. Greville’s; please let me have it!”
“What! was it those young dogs, the Master Grevilles, that were with you!” growled Mr. Grice. “If I’d known that, I’d not have let you off so easy. Those boys are the plague of the place; I wish it had been one of them as I’d caught, I’d have had some satisfaction out of them!”
Henry entreated again for the gun, explaining that they had not leave to take it; but the farmer was unrelenting. He might go to them, he said, to make up the price of the poor turkey-cock; how they could have got the gun was no affair of his; have it they should not, till the money was brought to him; and if it did not come before night, he should carry the gun up to the Park, and complain to Mr. Greville.