"I've only forgot the priming—that's all."
"There's a pretty fellow, you are, for a sportsman."
"Well, it's no matter as it happens; for, though 'Time and tide wait for no man,' a sparrow tied must, you know. There! that will do."
"Sure you put the shot in now?"
"If you put the shot into Dicky as surely, he'll never peck groundsel again, depend on it."
Again the "murderous tube" was levelled; Sugarlips backed against an adjoining wall, with a nervous adhesiveness that evidently proved him less fearful of a little mortar than a great gun!
"That's right; out of the way, Sugarlips; I am sure I shall hit him this time." And no sooner had he uttered this self-congratulatory assurance (alas! not life-assurance!) than a report (most injurious to the innocent cock-sparrow) was heard in the neighbourhood!
"Murder!—mur-der!" roared a stentorian voice, which made the criniferous coverings of their craniums stand on end
"Like quills upon the fretful porcupine."
In an instant the sportsman let fall his gun, and Sugarlips ran affrighted towards the stile. He found it really "vox et preterea nihil;" for a few feathers of the bird alone were visible: he had been blown to nothing; and, peeping cautiously round the angle of the wall, he beheld a portly gentleman in black running along with the unwieldy gait of a chased elephant.