"HE won't let us," said Jim.
Then, intent silence as a sand-piper came hopping along a ridge. It stopped at sight of them, and fixed them first with one inquiring eye and then with the other. Their hands felt for their little clubs. The sand-piper decided against them, and flew away with a cheep of derision.
Jim had dropped the rabbit for his club. Jack leaned over behind him and had it in a second. Jim hurled himself on him, and they were at it again hammer and tongs, and presently they were sitting panting again, and this time the rabbit was on Jack's off side, and, for additional security, wedged half under his sandy leg.
"We could tell him we'd asked HIM and HE said Yes," said Jim, resuming the conversation as if there had been no break.
"He'll go and ask HIM himself, and HE'LL say No," said Jack, with perfect understanding, in spite of the mixture of third persons.
"H'mph!" grunted Jim sulkily. "Wish HE was dead."
"There'd be somebody else."
From which remark you may gather that, where abstruse thinking met with little encouragement, Master Jack was the more thoughtful of the two.
"We'll go in and watch him when he goes in to-morrow," suggested Jim presently.
"They'd see us."