As he did so, the hedge, almost opposite, was burst asunder and a man
came slipping down the bank, and, regaining his feet, stood staring
at Barnabas and panting. A dusty, bedraggled wretch he looked,
unshaven and unkempt, with quick, bright eyes that gleamed in the
pale oval of his face.
"What do you want?" Barnabas demanded.
"Everything!" the man panted, with the ghost of a smile on his
pallid lips; "but--the ditch would do."
"And why the ditch?"
"Because they're--after me."
"Who are?"
"Gamekeepers!"
"Then, you're a poacher?"
"And a very clumsy one--they had me once--close on me now."
"How many?"
"Two."
"Then--hum!--get into the ditch," said Barnabas.
Now the ditch, as has been said, was deep and dry, and next moment,
the miserable fugitive was hidden from view by reason of this, and
of the grasses and wild flowers that grew luxuriantly there; seeing
which, Barnabas went back to his reading.
"It is permitted," solemnly writes the Person of Quality, "that
white waistcoats be worn,--though sparingly, for caution is always
advisable, and a buff waistcoat therefore is recommended as safer.
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