f he had been walking through light springs.

At the end of the day we were all assembled outside the cover, where the
game was being counted, except Bruce, who was still in the wood. A stray
shot every now and then gave notice of his approach.

"We heard but the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing,"

Guy quoted, laughing.

"Random! you may say that," remarked Fallowfield. "That man ought to be
in a glass case, and ticketed; he's a natural curiosity. His bag to-day
consists of one hare, one hen, and one--sex unknown, for no one saw it
rise or tried to pick it up; it was blown into a cloud of feathers
within six feet of his muzzle. Here he comes; don't ask him what he's
done--it's cruelty."

Bruce came up to us, looking rather more discontented than usual, but
not nearly so savage as the keeper who had attended him all day, who
immediately retreated among his fellows to relieve himself, by many
oaths, of his suppressed disgust and scorn. They offered him beer, but
it was no use. I heard him growl out, "That there muff's enough to spile
one's taste for a fortnit."

It was the hour of the wood-pigeons coming in to roost, and several were
wheeling over our heads at a considerable height.

"There's something for you to empty your gun at, Bruce," Sir. Raymond
said, pointing to one that came rather nearer than the rest.

He was leveling, when Forrester cried out, "Five-and-twenty to five on
the bird!"

"Done!" answered Bruce, as he pulled the trigger. It was a long and not
very easy shot, but the pigeon came whirling down through the tranches
with a broken pinion.

"You are unlucky in your selection, Captain Forrester," the successful
shot remarked, coolly. "You might have won a heavy stake by laying the
same odds all day."

"It serves you right," interposed Guy, "for speaking to a man on his
shot. Don't you remember quarreling with me the other day for doing so,
Charley?"

Charley's face of perplexity and disgust was irresistible. We all
laughed. "What a _guignon_ I have," he said. "Mr. Raymond, I believe you
were in the robbery."

"Not I," was the answer. "I was as much surprised as any one. I think,"
he went on, lowering his tone, "Guy is right; he changed his aim, as you
spoke, involuntarily, or he _must_ have missed."

Then we turned homeward through the twilight.

I do not know if the reminiscence of his lost "pony" was rankling in
Forrester's mind, or if he was only