“Try some fresh place,” whispered Mercer.
“Nay; they all run one into another; the ground under here’s like the rat-holes up at the old house. There goes one.”
For a rabbit bolted from a hole higher up, turned on seeing us, and darted up toward the pines.
“Farret’s working beautifully,” said Magglin.
“How many holes have you covered?” I asked.
“’Bout four-and-twenty, and all my nets. You young gents ought to pay me for the use of them.”
“Here’s one!” cried Mercer, making a leap in a similar fashion to that of the under gardener, and he too caught an unfortunate rabbit, whose rush had been right into one of the little loose nets, in which it was tangled directly.
“Here, let me kill un for you,” said Magglin.
“No; I know now. I can do it,” said Mercer. Then I sprang to my feet, and my first impulse was to run, my second to stand fast, for how he got up to us so close from behind without being seen was a mystery to me; but there, just in the midst of the confusion and excitement of capturing the second rabbit, was Bob Hopley, the keeper, his big, sturdy form seeming to tower above us, and, caught, as we were in this nefarious act, filling me with dread.
“Got you this time then,” he said gruffly.