“Yes, sir,” said Browsem.
“You’re a fool, Browsem,” puffed my uncle.
“Thanky, sir,” said Browsem.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” cried my uncle, fiercely.
“Nothing, sir,” said the keeper, mildly.
“For two pins, sir,” cried my uncle, fiercely, “I’d discharge you, sir. D’yer hear? discharge you, sir, for talking such foolery. Ghosts—posts! pooh! bah! puff! stuff! yah! Forward.”
Mr Todds, who was at my elbow, murmured his approval of his superior’s language, but gave a superstitious shiver at the same moment. And then once more we opened out, and tramped through the wood, till regularly beaten out; and, without having heard another shot or seen a single enemy, we reluctantly retraced our steps to the Priory.
The next morning, at breakfast, the parlour-maid again announced Browsem—for my uncle abjures men-servants in the house—and the keeper, looking puzzled and long-faced, appeared at the door.
“Now, then,” sputtered my uncle, “have you caught them?”
“They cleared Sandy Plants last night, sir,” growled the man.