what so often both had been
cautioned against--the shooting without seeing clearly the object of
aim. To the shock of a catastrophe they had to add the sinking remorse
over warnings disobeyed.

"What are we going to do?" chattered Johnny at last.

"We got to go down and see----"

"I daresn't" confessed Johnny miserably.

"Do you suppose he's dead?"

"They'll probably put us in jail."

"Come on," said Bobby at last.

They arose, very giddy and uncertain on their feet. For the first time
they forced themselves to look at the copse lying below them.

"Oh!" breathed Johnny, "Look!"

Below them on the farther edge of the copse, and over a quarter of a
mile away, they saw Mr. Kincaid. He was bareheaded. Curly was with him.
The man was trying to send the water spaniel into the copse. Curly
pretended that he wanted to play, and did not in the least understand
what it was all about. He capered joyously around Mr. Kincaid's
outstretched arm; he pressed his chest to the earth and uttered short
barks; he chased madly around in circles, but he did not enter the
copse, which was plainly his master's desire. Finally Mr. Kincaid gave
it up and departed over the brow of the next hill.

And while this little by-play was going on two small boys above him felt
the warmth of life flowing back into their frozen souls. The blood
returned to their lips, their thumping hearts calmed, all the blessed
joy and sunshine and freedom of the world flooded in a return tide of
blessed relief.

"Gee," said Johnny, "I'm never going hunting again! Never any more!
Never!"

"You bet I'm going to be careful after this," said Bobby. "My, but I'm
glad!"

"I wonder why he didn't pick up his cap?" wondered Johnny.

"Perhaps he had it in his hand."

The boys drove home ringing the changes on a thousand new resolutions of
caution.

"It's a good lesson to us," said Bobby by way of reminiscent philosophy
often heard before.

They put Bobby Junior into the barn, cleaned the Flobert, changed their
hunting clothes, and answered with alacrity the summons to the dining
room. After they were well started with the meal, Mr. Orde came in and
sat down. He nodded abstractedly, and had little to say. The boys were
too far down in remorse to care to bring up any of the subjects near
their hearts. Finally Mrs. Orde remarked this general depression.

"I must say you're a cheerful lot of men folks," said she. "What is it?
Business?" She smiled at the boys