I know to some black game, far away up the hill.

He'd give his two eyes to see them, with their white wing-feathers; and if he hadn't'-- Stephen stopped, with quivering lips, for he could not speak yet of Snip's murder.
'Never take on, my lad,' said Black Thompson, clapping him on the back; 'we'll spoil his sport for him.

Come thy ways with us; it'll be dark dusk afore we gain the spinny, and Jones is off to the Whitehurst woods to-night.

We'll have as rare sport as the lord of the manor himself.

Thee art a sharp one.