"Arrah, what is he talkin' about at all at all?" panted Billy. "Snipes! Cock him up wud snipes! There ain't a snipe——"
Here Simpson, who had been groping amongst the furze, held up to our astonished gaze two brace of snipe.
Billy Doyle seemed completely dumbfounded. "That bangs anything I ever heerd tell of. Man nor boy ever seen a snipe in that field afore. Begorra, he's handy enough wud the gun, after all."
I was very much pleased to find that our excursion had borne fruit, and that my vaunted preserves were not utterly barren.
"That's a good beginning, Simpson," I cried. "Go ahead; you'll get plenty of birds by-and-by."
"I'll shoot at nothing but snipe," he replied. "Here you, Billy, come here and load for me."
"Let's look at the birds, av ye plaze, sir," said Billy, who began to entertain a feeling akin to respect for a man who could bring down his two brace at a shot. "I'll be bound they're fat an' cosy, arter the hoighth av fine feedin' on this slob."
"They're in my bag. By-and-by," replied Simpson curtly. "Now, my man, follow your master, and leave me to myself;" and my guest strode in the opposite direction.
Bang! bang!
"Be the mortial, he's at thim agin. This is shupayriour," cried my retainer, hurrying towards the place whence the report proceeded.