"And I do think he's getting high, too, already," said Tom, smelling at
him cautiously, "so we must finish him up soon."
"Yes, all very well; but how are we to cook him? I'm sure I ain't going
to try it on in the hall or passages; we can't afford to be roasting
ducks about--our character's too bad."
"I wish we were rid of the brute," said Tom, throwing him on the table
in disgust. And after a day or two more it became clear that got rid of
he must be; so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and put
him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he was found in the
holidays by the matron, a gruesome body.
They had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and the
bold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an example
of the first boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched
behind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were approaching all
unconscious. Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year? Who can say?
Guinea-fowls always are; so are all other things, animals, and persons,
requisite for getting one into scrapes--always ready when any mischief
can come of them. At any rate, just under East's nose popped out the old
guinea-hen, scuttling along and shrieking, "Come back, come back,"
at the top of her voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have
withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has in
his hand at her, and then rushes to turn her into the hedge again.
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