Sponge;
and, just as he spoke, whirr! rose a covey of partridges, eleven in number,
quite at an impossible distance, but Jog blazed away all the same.
''Ord rot it, man! if you'd only held your (something) tongue,' growled
Jog, as he shaded the sun from his eyes to mark them down, 'I'd have
(wheezed) half of them over.'
'Nonsense, man!' replied Mr. Sponge. 'They were a mile out of shot.'
'I think I should know my (puff) gun better than (wheeze) you,' replied
Jog, bringing it down to load.
'They're down!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, who, having watched them till they
began to skim in their flight, saw them stop, flap their wings, and drop
among some straggling gorse on the hill before them. 'Let's break the
covey; we shall bag them better singly.'
'Take time (puff), replied Jog, snorting into his frill, and measuring out
his powder most leisurely. 'Take time (wheeze),' repeated he; 'they're just
on the bounds of moy ter-ri-to-ry.'
Jog had had many a game at romps with these birds, and knew their haunts
and habits to a nicety.
Pages:
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779