I descended through the trap-door, and he followed, the man looking at us searchingly, as if he had not much faith in our honesty when face to face with such temptations as owls’ eggs, but his look was only momentary, and he took it for granted that we had kept our word.
“Where are the old birds, Jem?” said my companion.
“Oh, right away somewhere in the woods, asleep. Want to see them?”
“Of course.”
“Then you must come at night, and you’ll see these young ones sitting at one of the holes giving a hiss now and then for the old birds to come and feed them, and every now and then one of them flies up.”
“Yes, I know,” said Mercer, “so still and softly that you can’t hear the wings. But I should like that egg.”
“Then you had better ask the master, and see what he says.”
“Well, my lads,” cried Hopley, in his bluff, deep voice, “seen the owls?”
“Yes; and now, I say, Bob Hopley, you’ll let us go through the big beech-wood, and round by the hammer pond?”
“What for?” said the keeper.