h open and its tongue hanging
out, and to be wagging a big tail like the fox's, only black and more
ragged.

As I watched, up got the old hen partridge and one of her young ones
and flew towards me. The Red-faced Man lifted his gun and fired, once,
twice, and down came first the mother partridge and then the young one.
I forgot to say that Tom fired too at the old partridge, which fell dead
quite close to me, leaving a lot of feathers floating in the air. As it
fell Tom screeched out--

"I killed that, father."

This made the Red-faced Man very angry.

"You young scoundrel," he said, "how often have I told you not to shoot
at my birds under my nose? No sportsman shoots at another man's birds,
and as for killing it, you were yards under the thing. If you do it
again I will send you home."

"Sorry, father," said Tom, adding in a low voice with a snigger, "I
did kill it after all. Dad thinks no one can hit a partridge except
himself."

Just then up jumped my father near to Giles, and came leaping in front
of the Red-faced Man about twenty yards away from him.

"Mark hare!" shouted Giles, and Grampus, who was still glowering at Tom
and had not quite finished pushing the cartridges into his gun, shut
it up in a hurry and fired first one barrel and then the other. But my
father, who was very cunning, jumped into the air at the first shot and
ducked at the second, so that he was missed; at least I suppose that is
why he was missed.

Giles grinned and the Red-faced Man said, "Damn!" What does 'damn' mean,
Mahatma? It was a very favourite word with the Red-faced Man, but even
now I can't quite understand it."

"Nor can I," I answered. "Go on."

"Well, my poor father next ran in front of Tom, who shot too and hit him
in the hind legs so that he rolled over and over in the turnips, kicking
and screaming. Have you ever heard a hare scream, Mahatma?"

"Yes, yes, it makes a horrid noise like a baby."

"Wiped your eye that time, Dad," cried Tom in an exultant voice.

"I don't know about wiping my eye," answered his father, turning quite
purple with rage, "but I wish you would be good enough, Thomas, not to
shoot my hares behind, so that they make that beastly row which upsets
me" (I think that the Red-faced Man was really kind at the bottom) "and
spoils them for the market. If you can't hit a hare in front, miss it
like a gentleman."

"As you do, Dad," said Tom, sniggering again. "All right, I'll try."

"Giles," ro