All the other chaps said the same thing, but Bob pointed out to them that they 'ad taken their sixpences on'y the night afore, and they must stay in for the week. He said that was the law. Some of 'em talked about giving 'im 'is sixpences back, but Bob said if they did they must pay up all the sixpences they had 'ad for three weeks. The end of it was they said they'd stay in for that week and not a moment longer. The next day Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins altered their minds. Sam found a couple o' shillings that his wife 'ad hidden in her Sunday bonnet, and Peter Gubbins opened 'is boy's money-box to see 'ow much there was in it. They came up to the _Cauliflower_ to pay Bob their eighteen-pences, but he wasn't there, and when they went to his 'ouse Mrs. Pretty said as 'ow he'd gone off to Wickham and wouldn't be back till Saturday. So they 'ad to spend the money on beer instead. That was on Tuesday, and things went on all right till Friday, when Mr. Sutton 'ad another shoot. The birds was getting scarce and the gentlemen that anxious to shoot them there was no 'olding them. Once or twice the keepers spoke to 'em about carefulness, and said wot large families they'd got, but it wasn't much good. They went on blazing away, and just at the corner of the wood Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins was both hit; Sam in the leg and Peter in the arm. The noise that was made was awful—everybody shouting that they 'adn't done it, and all speaking at once, and Mr. Sutton was dancing about a'most beside 'imself with rage. Pore Sam and Peter was 'elped along by the others; Sam being carried and Peter led, and both of 'em with the idea of getting all they could out of it, making such 'orrible noises that Mr. Sutton couldn't hear 'imself calling his friends names. “There seems to be wounded men calling out all over the place,” he ses, in a temper. “I think there _is_ another one over there, sir,” ses one o' the keepers, pointing. Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins both left off to listen, and then they all heard it distinctly. A dreadful noise it was, and when Mr. Sutton and one or two more follered it up they found poor Walter Bell lying on 'is face in a bramble. “Wot's the matter?” ses Mr. Sutton, shouting at 'im. “I've been shot from behind,” ses Walter. “I'd got something in my boot, and I was just stooping down to fasten it up agin when I got it. “But there oughtn't to be anybody 'ere,” ses Mr. Sutton to one of the keepers. “They get all over the place, sir,” ses the keeper, scratching his 'ead. “I fancied I 'eard a gun go off here a minute or two arter the others was shot.” “I believe he's done it 'imself,” says Mr. Sutton, stamping his foot. “I don't see 'ow he could, sir,” ses the keeper, touching his cap and looking at Walter as was still lying with 'is face on 'is arms.