"Cut and run!" cried Phil, and sprung up as nimbly as a hare when you stumble upon her seat.
"Come along, then!" said Zed; and, seizing his blind companion by the hand, away they galloped, as fast as their old limbs would wag down the declivity, to the boat.
Zed pushed Phil, head over heels, into the skiff, and, jumping in himself, scudded away out of the creek as fast as he could possibly "scull," or turn the oar, at the boat's stern, after the manner of a screw, in the water. The gamekeeper came up the water-side, and approached within a few yards of the boat, before the adventurers could make their way back into the broad Trent.
"You are two very old men," said he, lifting up his hand in a warning manner, "or I would certainly detain you, and have you indicted for trespass. Take care you are never found here again!"
Neither of the old men made a word of reply; and the gamekeeper walked away.
"Detained us!—would he?" said Zed, in a low, but contemptuous tone, as soon as they had gained the breadth of the river, and the gamekeeper was sufficiently out of hearing,—"how could he have done that, if he had tried, think you, Phil?"
"Never mind talking about that, Zed,—let us be content with having got out of a scrape," answered blind Phil: "but now tell me, Zed," he continued, putting an oar on one side of the boat, and taking his share of labour with as easy naturalness as if he had possessed the most perfect eyesight,—"what it could be that put such a wild notion into your head as to lead you to think of catching a pheasant with your hand, or of knocking it down with your hat:—why didn't you take a bit o' salt to throw on its tail, Zed?" concluded the fiddler, and burst into another fit of helpless laughter.
"He—he—he!" said the fisherman, forcing a faint laugh, to conceal his shame and vexation;—"never mind,—never mind that, Phil!" he said,—"my old head gets weak, or I might ha' been sure it would be a fool's errand. Was not it a mighty piece of impudence in that thief of a gamekeeper, think you, to tell us he had a mind to indict us for 'trespass,' as the Jack-in-office called it?—what harm could we do, Phil, by just trampling among the grass for a few minutes?"
"Poor folks are not allowed to tread upon rich folks' land, you know, Zed, without their leave," said the fiddler.
"No; but isn't it hard that there should be such a law, Phil?" said the fisherman.