The rat looked very angry. “They have as much right to be alive as little boys have,” he said. “But good-bye for the present,” and he scampered away.
Tommy Smith walked on, and when he had gone some little way, he saw a number of rooks walking about a field. There was a haystack in the field, and he thought that perhaps if he were to get behind it and wait there for a little while, some of the rooks would come near enough for him to throw a stone at them. So he put several stones in his pocket, and then, with one in his hand, he began to walk towards the haystack. When he got there, he sat down behind it, and peeped cautiously round the corner. Yes, the rooks were still there, and some of them were coming nearer. “Oh,” thought Tommy Smith (but I think he must have thought it aloud), “I have only to wait a little while, and then, perhaps, I shall be able to kill one.”
“For shame!” said a voice close to him.
Tommy Smith looked all about, but he saw no one. “Who was that?” he said.
“Oh, fie!” said the voice. “What? kill a poor rook? What a wicked, wicked thing to do!”
Tommy Smith thought that there must be someone on the other side of the haystack, so he went there to see; but he found no one. Then he walked all round it, but nobody was there. But the rooks had seen him as he went round the haystack, and they all flew away. Then the same voice (it was rather a hoarse one) said, “Ah! now they are gone; so you will not be able to kill any of them.”
“Who are you?” said Tommy Smith. “I hear you, but I cannot see anybody;” and, indeed, he began to feel rather frightened.
“If I show myself, will you promise not to hurt me?” said the hoarse voice.
“Yes, I will,” said Tommy Smith.
“Very well, then. Throw away that stone you have in your hand, and the ones in your pocket as well.”