170 WARWICK WOODL.^DS. 



see, jest see, boy, if I doesn't sarve you out, now, afore 

 sundown !" 



"Which way shall be beat, Tom," asked Harry, as he 

 changed his riding boots for heavy shooting shoes and 

 leggins; "which course to-day?" 



"Why, Timothy's gittin' out the wagon, and we'll drive 

 up the old road round the ridge, and so strike in by 

 Minthome's, and take them ridges down, and so across 

 the hill — there's some big stubbles there, and nice thick 

 brush holes along the fence sides, and the boys does tell 

 us there be one or two big bevies — but, cuss them, they 

 will lie! — and over back to Gin'ral Bertolf's barns, and 

 so acrost the road, and round the upper eend of the big 

 pond, and down the long swamp into Hell hole, and Tim 

 can meet us with the wagon at five o'clock, under Bill 

 Wisner's white oak — does that suit you?" 



"Excellently well, Tom," replied Harry, "I could not 

 have cut a better day's work out myself, if I had tried. 

 Well, all the traps are in, and the dogs, Timothy, is it 

 not 80?" 



"Ey! ey! Sur," shouted that worthy from without, "all 

 in, this half -hour, and all roightl" 



"Light your cigars then, quick, and let us start^ — 

 hurrah !" 



Within two minutes, they were all seated. Fat Tom in 

 the post of honor by Harry's side upon the driving box, 

 the Commodore and Frank, with Timothy, on the back 

 seat, and off they rattled — ten miles an hour without the 

 whip, up hill and down dale all alike, for they had but 

 three miles to go, and that was gone in double quick time. 



"What mun Ay do wi' t' horses, Sur?" asked Tim, 

 touching his castor as he spoke. 



"Take them home, to be sure," replied Harry, "and 

 meet us with them under the oak tree, close to Mr. Wi"5- 

 ner's house, at five o'clock this evening.'' 



"Nay! nay! Sur!" answered Tim, with a broad grin, 

 eager to see the sport, and hating to be sent so uncere- 

 moniously home, "that winna do, I'm thinking — who'll 

 hug t' gam bag, and carry t' bottles, and make t' loonchun 

 ready; that winna do, Sur, niver. If yoii pie-ease, Sur, 

 Ay'll pit oop t' horses i' Measter Minthome's barn here, 

 and shak' doon a bite o' hay tull 'em, and so srang on wi' 



