As he spoke, he dropped down on his knees, and began hunting about at the bottom of the hedge, while I made clumsy efforts to do the same.
“What is it?” I said eagerly.
“Pretend it’s a snake. Can’t you see?”
“No.”
“There’s Eely Burr and old Dicksee coming down the lane, and they’ll want to come too. Hist! don’t look. Lie down; p’r’aps they haven’t seen us, and they’ll go by.”
“But it’s all stinging nettles,” I said.
“What of that? Here, this way; they won’t sting if you go down hard.”
And, throwing himself into a great bed of the venomous weeds, he lay perfectly still, and I was obliged to follow suit, but not without suffering two or three stings.