The infant Jehu mounts, and of course commences pitching into Shelty, alike vigorously and harmlessly; off they go at score."
"Where are you going, Jemmy?"
"What—say—father?" No words are lost.
"Where are you going, Jemmy?"
"Going to get some turnips for my pigs;" and Jemmy disappeared in a bend of the road.
On inquiry, I found Jemmy used often to go miles from home in this way, and was as well known in the neighbourhood as his father.
On another occasion, I remember seeing three lads, the oldest about twelve, starting off in a four-wheeled cart, armed with an old gun.
"Where are you going, there?"
"To shoot pigeons."
"What's that sticking out of your pocket?"