(_The Gamekeeper's Story_)
[Illustration]
He were a sort o' Frenchman, sir,
And called hisself a Duck:
I never could make head or tail
O' that there furrin muck!
He came to stay wi' Master there.
And brought his guns and that--
But bless you, sir! he could na' shoot,
No more than this here hat!
[Illustration]
The Master and the Frenchman went
To shoot the spinney-kivver
What reaches from the stable-wall
Right down to that there river.
A rocketing cock flew up at wunst,
And Mossoo he fired, and missed--
How he did swear, and tear his hair,
And shake his little fist!
The way that Mossoo danced about,
It really were a sight!
He'd grin, and pull his beard, and shout
And screech with all his might.
He wore a thing across his nose
Just like a kind o' shear:
I think he said he were "my hop"--
Which means his sight were near.
Mossoo he yelled, "I see him zere,
Upon ze stable top!"
With that he banged off right and left--
I seed a summat drop;
I ran to pick up that there bird;
And 'neath the stable-clock
I found it sure enow--it were
Our new gilt weather-cock!
* * * * *
[Illustration]