“Hold your tongue. Here’s Magglin.”
“Morning, young gents,” said the man coming up in his nasty, watchful, furtive way, looking first behind him, and then dodging to right and left to look behind us, to see if any one was coming.
“Morning.—Hi! look out! Keeper!” cried Mercer.
“Eh? Where? where?” whispered Magglin huskily.
“Down in the woods,” cried Mercer laughingly. “Look at him, Burr; he has been up to some games, or he wouldn’t be so frightened.”
“Get out!” growled the gipsy-looking fellow sourly. “Doctor don’t teach you to behave like that, I know.”
“Nor the gardener don’t teach you to try and cheat people with ferrets.”
“Well, I like that,” cried Magglin in an ill-used tone. “I sells you for a mate of mine—”
“No, you didn’t, it was for yourself, Magg.”
“As good a farret as ever run along a hole.”