Joe--Joe!' The fat boy, who under the exciting influence of the morning did not appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged from the house.
'Go up, and call the gentleman, and tell him he'll find me and Mr.
Pickwick in the rookery.

Show the gentleman the way there; d'ye hear ?' The boy departed to execute his commission; and the host, carrying both guns like a second Robinson Crusoe, led the way from the garden.
'This is the place,' said the old gentleman, pausing after a few minutes walking, in an avenue of trees.

The information was unnecessary; for the incessant cawing of the unconscious rooks sufficiently indicated their whereabouts.
The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground, and loaded the other.
'Here they are,' said Mr.Pickwick; and, as he spoke, the forms of Mr.
Tupman, Mr.Snodgrass, and Mr.Winkle appeared in the distance.

The fat boy, not being quite certain which gentleman he was directed to call, had with peculiar sagacity, and to prevent the possibility of any mistake, called them all.
'Come along,' shouted the old gentleman, addressing Mr.Winkle; 'a keen hand like you ought to have been up long ago, even to such poor work as this.' Mr.Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took up the spare gun with an expression of countenance which a metaphysical rook, impressed with a foreboding of his approaching death by violence, may be supposed to assume.

It might have been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery.