“What a shame!”
“Says they kills the young rats and mice. Like to go and see it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m going round by Rigg’s Spinney, and I’ll meet you at the farm gates. Jem Roff’ll let you go up if I ask him.”
“How long will you be?”
“Hour! Don’t forget!”
“Just as if we should!” cried Mercer, as the keeper shouldered his gun again and marched off. “It’s rather awkward, though.”
“What is?” I said.
“Being friends with Magglin and Bob Hopley too, because they hate each other awfully. But then, you see, it means natural history, don’t it?”
He looked at me as if he meant me to say it, so I said, “Yes.”