is money, and if walking in them was difficult, running
was impossible. He held on to them bravely, but that only impeded
progress further; the faithless cowhides wabbled, twisted, and finally
landed him sprawling on his back in the middle of the flock, which
promptly retired to distant parts of the poultry yard, "puttering" and
dodging.

"Sawney proves a broken reed, as usual," called a pleasant voice from
somewhere in the background; "here, let me help you," and Nesbit Thorne
leaped over the fence, and advanced, gun in hand, to the rescue.

"It's the fault of his 'sto' boots,'" Pocahontas explained, laughing,
as she extended her hand. "Sawney's intentions were honorable enough.
I shall be glad of your assistance--as usual," with a merry glance,
"for these aggravating birds are shattering my nerves, and ruining my
temper."

Then, together, the pair pursued the unruly fowls, and pressed upon
them and buffeted them, until the turkeys were right glad to defy the
vision of the old brown sensationalist, and take refuge in their house.
Pocahontas closed the door with a sharp bang almost upon the tail of
the hindmost one, locked it, and then turned cordially to her companion
and invited him to remain and take tea with them.

Thorne glanced down at his splashed boots and corduroys. "I'm scarcely
in trim for a lady's tea table," he said, smiling, "you must excuse me,
and let me come some other time. I met your brother on the low grounds
as I came up. I've been shooting over his land, and called to leave
your mother a few birds."

"Had you good sport?" inquired Pocahontas, with interest, watching him
empty the pockets of his shooting-coat on the top of an adjacent
chicken-coop, and admiring the soft shades, and exquisite markings of
the plumage of the dead birds.

"Here's old 'bur-rabbit,'" said Thorne, reaching his hand behind his
back, and drawing out the pretty brown beast by the legs. "I knocked
him over just below your garden fence in a little patch of briers. It
was a pretty shot; see, right through the head. I hate to mangle my
game. I'd pretty fair sport; the birds are a little wild, though, and
I had no dog. I lost a fine duck--a canvas-back, this afternoon, by
its falling into deep water. I must send North for a brace of good
dogs."

"That isn't necessary," said Pocahontas, touching the birds gently, and
stroking their soft feathers. "Berke and Royall both have good dogs,
trained retrievers, and us