"Why," replies Tom, "I've been out all day fagging after birds, and haven't had a shot—now, both my barrels are loaded—I should like to take home something; what shall I give you to let me have a shot with each barrel at those ducks and fowls—I standing here—and to have whatever I kill?"
"What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer.
"Fairish," said Tom, "fairish."
"And to have all you kill?" said the farmer, "eh?"
"Exactly so," said Tom.
"Half a guinea," said the farmer.
"That's too much," said Tom. "I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll give you a seven-shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have in my pocket."
"Well," said the man, "hand it over."
The payment was made—Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the barn-door, and let fly with one barrel and then with the other; and such quacking and splashing, and screaming and fluttering, had never been seen in that place before.