"Of dooty, mam—pre-cisely!" Saying which, the Sergeant turned to his work again; but, chancing to lift his gaze to a certain lofty branch that crawled along the wall just beneath the coping, he fell back a pace and uttered a sudden exclamation:
"Sacré bleu!"
"Lud, Sergeant!" cried Mrs. Agatha, clasping her posy to her bosom and giving voice to a small, a very small scream, "how you do fright one with your outlandish words! What ails the man—there be no Frenchmen here to fight—speak English, Sergeant—do!"
"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant with his gaze still fixed.
"Sergeant—pray don't oathe!"
"But zookers, mam——!"
"Sergeant—ha' done, I say!"
"But damme, Mrs. Agatha mam, asking your pardon, I'm sure—but don't ye see—he's been at 'em again! The three best clusters on the tree—gone, mam, gone! Stole, Mrs. Agatha mam, 'twixt now and twelve o'clock noon——"
"O Gemini, the wretch!"
"I'll take my oath them cherries was a-blowing not an hour agone, mam, on that branch atop the wall!"