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.

“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.  He succeeds, and then they are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full cry, the “Come back, come back,” getting shriller and fainter every minute.