Dick’s features had a peculiar look of disgust upon them and his brow wrinkled up.
“Seems so precious cruel,” he said.
Dave, who was rapidly freeing his decoy-birds and transferring them to the cage, stood up with a fluttering plover in one hand.
“Cruel!” he cried.
“Yes, and treacherous,” replied Dick.
“Deal more cruel for me to be found starved to death in my place some day,” said Dave. “Pie-wipes eats the beedles and wains, don’t they? Well, we eats the pie-wipes, or sells ’em, and buys flour and bacon. Get out wi’ ye! Cruel! Yow don’t like piewipe pie!”
“I did, and roast piewipe too,” cried Dick; “but I don’t think I shall ever eat any again.”
“Hark at him!” cried Dave, going on rapidly with his task and packing up his stuffed birds neatly in their basket, drawing out his pegs, and then rolling up and wringing the wet net before placing it in the punt, and winding in the dripping line which he drew through the water from the reed-bed. “Hark at him, young Tom Tallington!”—and he uttered now a peculiarly ugly harsh laugh—“young squire ar’n’t going to eat any more bacon, ’cause it’s cruel to kill the pigs; nor no eels, because they has to be caught; and he wean’t catch no more jacks, nor eel-pouts, nor yet eat any rabbud-pie! Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!”
“Look here, Dave!” cried Dick passionately, “if you laugh at me I’ll shy something at you! No, I won’t,” he shouted, seizing the cage; “I’ll drown all your decoys!”
“Ay, do!” said Dave, beginning to use the pole. “You’re such a particular young gentleman! Only, wouldn’t it be cruel?”