“There, what did I say?” cried Magglin, in a sharp, acid voice that sounded almost like a woman’s. “I told you that you oughtn’t to be catching them rabbids, and now you see what trouble you’re in.”
“Oh, you told ’em so, did you, my lad?” said the keeper in a deep, angry voice, and he seemed like a great mastiff growling at a common-looking cur. “Then I ’spose it’s their ferret in yon burrows, eh? there it is!” he continued, as the buff-looking, snaky animal now came out of one of the holes close by us, and Mercer stooped and picked it up as it made for the dead rabbit.
“Oh yes, it’s their farret, ’tarn’t mine,” said Magglin quickly.
“Yes, it’s my ferret, Mr Hopley,” Mercer said dolefully.
“And their nets, eh? Here, you stand still. You try to run away, and I’ll send a charge o’ small shot after you, and that can run faster than you can.”
“More’n you dare do, big Bob Hopley,” cried Magglin, backing away up the hill; and I thought how cowardly the man’s nature must be, for him to propose this expedition and then sneak away from us like that. But almost at the same moment I saw a tall, stern gentleman appear from among the pine trees toward which Magglin was backing, for the keeper had presented his gun, evidently to take the labourer’s attention, as I saw that, if matters went on in the way in which they were going, our companion would back right up into the new-comer’s arms.
“You stop, will you!” cried the keeper.
“You stop yourself,” cried Magglin. “You’ve got them as belongs to the ferret and was rabbiting. Good-night.”
“Will you stop, or am I to shoot?” cried Hopley.