"Hulloo!" said Pete, with a sneering grin; "got you then, have I? Who
gave you leave to come and pick them?"
"Hulloo, Pete!" said Tom quietly, ignoring the question, for the
recollection of his thoughts during the past few days came up strongly,
and all that the Vicar, his uncle, and David had said.
"Who are you a hulloo Peteing?" snarled the fellow. "Yer ain't got no
guns now to go shooting at people."
"What nonsense!" said Tom; "that wasn't a gun--it was an explosion."
"Yer needn't tell me; I know," said Pete, edging round slowly to Tom's
side of the bush.
"I don't believe you were half so much hurt as I was," continued Tom.
"Serve yer right. Yer'd no business to shoot at a fellow."
"I didn't," cried Tom. "Don't I tell you it wasn't a gun?"
"Oh, yer can't cheat me. Here! hi! Kerm here, will yer, or I'll
scruntch yer!" he roared to his dog. "Leave that 'ere rarebut alone.
Want him to go sneaking an' telling the perlice, and purtendin' it was
me."
The dog gave up chasing an unfortunate rabbit through the bushes, and
came trotting up, with hanging head and tail, to his master's side,
where he crouched down panting and flinching as Pete raised his hand and
made believe to strike.
"I'll half smash yer if yer don't mind," he snarled.