Here he resolved to pass the night. He chose a part where the trees were
thickest, lit his fire, plucked and cleaned four quails, filled his billy
with water from the stream hard by, made tea in his pannikin, grilled two
of his birds on the embers, ate them, and when he had done all this, he
lit his pipe and began to think things over. "So far so good," said he
to himself; but hardly had the words passed through his mind before he
was startled by the sound of voices, still at some distance, but
evidently drawing towards him.
He instantly gathered up his billy, pannikin, tea, biscuits, and blanket,
all of which he had determined to discard and hide on the following
morning; everything that could betray him he carried full haste into the
wood some few yards off, in the direction opposite to that from which the
voices were coming, but he let his quails lie where they were, and put
his pipe and tobacco in his pocket.
The voices drew nearer and nearer, and it was all my father could do to
get back and sit down innocently by his fire, before he could hear what
was being said.
"Thank goodness," said one of the speakers (of course in the Erewhonian
language), "we seem to be finding somebody at last. I hope it is not
some poacher; we had better be careful."
"Nonsense!" said the other.
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