right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered to the
left, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he wasn't
wanted there; and then he did what a common mind would have done at
once--looked into the garden, and there saw Mr. Wardle. 'How are
you?' said the good-humoured individual, out of breath with his own
anticipations of pleasure.'Beautiful morning, ain't it? Glad to see you
up so early. Make haste down, and come out. I'll wait for you here.'
Mr. Pickwick needed no second invitation. Ten minutes sufficed for the
completion of his toilet, and at the expiration of that time he was by
the old gentleman's side.

'Hollo!' said Mr. Pickwick in his turn, seeing that his companion was
armed with a gun, and that another lay ready on the grass; 'what's going
forward?'

'Why, your friend and I,' replied the host, 'are going out rook-shooting
before breakfast. He's a very good shot, ain't he?'

'I've heard him say he's a capital one,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'but I
never saw him aim at anything.'

'Well,' said the host, 'I wish he'd come. 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 violen