‘There’s a barrow t’other side the hedge,’ said the boy. ‘If the gentleman’s servant would wheel along the paths, he could keep nigh us, and we could lift it over the stiles, and that.’ ‘The wery thing,’ said Mr. Weller, who was a party interested, inasmuch as he ardently longed to see the sport. ‘The wery thing. Well said, Smallcheek; I’ll have it out in a minute.’ But here a difficulty arose. The long gamekeeper resolutely protested against the introduction into a shooting party, of a gentleman in a barrow, as a gross violation of all established rules and precedents. It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. The gamekeeper having been coaxed and feed, and having, moreover, eased his mind by ‘punching’ the head of the inventive youth who had first suggested the use of the machine, Mr. Pickwick was placed in it, and off the party set; Wardle and the long gamekeeper leading the way, and Mr. Pickwick in the barrow, propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear. ‘Stop, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half across the first field. ‘What’s the matter now?’ said Wardle. ‘I won’t suffer this barrow to be moved another step,’ said Mr. Pickwick, resolutely, ‘unless Winkle carries that gun of his in a different manner.’ ‘How _am_ I to carry it?’ said the wretched Winkle. ‘Carry it with the muzzle to the ground,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘It’s so unsportsmanlike,’ reasoned Winkle. ‘I don’t care whether it’s unsportsmanlike or not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I am not going to be shot in a wheel-barrow, for the sake of appearances, to please anybody.’ ‘I know the gentleman’ll put that ‘ere charge into somebody afore he’s done,’ growled the long man. ‘Well, well--I don’t mind,’ said poor Winkle, turning his gun-stock uppermost--‘there.’ ‘Anythin’ for a quiet life,’ said Mr. Weller; and on they went again. ‘Stop!’ said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards farther. ‘What now?’ said Wardle. ‘That gun of Tupman’s is not safe: I know it isn’t,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Eh? What! not safe?’ said Mr. Tupman, in a tone of great alarm. ‘Not as you are carrying it,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am very sorry to make any further objection, but I cannot consent to go on, unless you carry it as Winkle does his.’ ‘I think you had better, sir,’ said the long gamekeeper, ‘or you’re quite as likely to lodge the charge in yourself as in anything else.’ Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the position required, and the party moved on again; the two amateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates at a royal funeral. The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party advancing stealthily a single pace, stopped too. ‘What’s the matter with the dogs’ legs?’ whispered Mr. Winkle. ‘How queer they’re standing.’ ‘Hush, can’t you?’ replied Wardle softly. ‘Don’t you see, they’re making a point?’