“Thief,” said that gentleman.
“Thief? I don’t know so much about that. Thieves don’t go thieving with loaded guns to shoot keepers, do they?”
“Well, no,” said Jem.
“Of course they don’t, so that’s what I say—there aren’t nothing worse than a poacher, and don’t you young gents have anything to do with him, or, as sure as you stand there, he’ll get you into some scrape.”
“Who’s going to have anything to do with him?” cried Mercer pettishly.
“Why, you are, sir.”
“I only buy a bird of him, sometimes, to stuff.”
“Yes, birds he’s shot on our grounds, I’ll be bound, or else trapped ones.”
“Well, they’re no good, and you never shoot anything for me. P’r’aps he is a bad one, but if I pay him, he is civil. He wouldn’t refuse to let two fellows go through the big woods.”
“Thought you was going fishing.”