Now, the farmer in question rented a house and yard situate at the end
of the field in which the young bird-fanciers had arrived, which house
and yard he didn't occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like
a brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in maintaining on the
premises a large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. Of course,
all sorts of depredators visited the place from time to time: foxes and
gipsies wrought havoc in the night; while in the daytime, I regret
to have to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and consequent
disappearances of ancient and respectable fowls were not unfrequent.
Tom and East had during the period of their outlawry visited the farm in
question for felonious purposes, and on one occasion had conquered and
slain a duck there, and borne away the carcass triumphantly, hidden in
their handkerchiefs. However, they were sickened of the practice by the
trouble and anxiety which the wretched duck's body caused them. They
carried it to Sally Harrowell's, in hopes of a good supper; but she,
after examining it, made a long face, and refused to dress or have
anything to do with it. Then they took it into their study, and began
plucking it themselves; but what to do with the feathers, where to hide
them?
"Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!" groaned East,
holding a bagful in his hand, and looking disconsolately at the carcass,
not yet half plucked.
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