e beaters made their appearance about two hundred yards away at
the further end of rather dirty barley stubble.

"I think that is the lot," he said; "I'm afraid you have lost your
gloves, Ida."

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when there was a yell of
"mark!" and a strong covey of birds appeared, swooping down the wind
right on to him.

On they came, scattered and rather "stringy." Harold gripped his gun
and drew a deep breath, while Ida, kneeling at his side, her lips
apart, and her beautiful eyes wide open, watched their advent through
a space in the hedge. Lovely enough she looked to charm the heart of
any man, if a man out partridge-driving could descend to such
frivolity, which we hold to be impossible.

Now is the moment. The leading brace are something over fifty yards
away, and he knows full well that if there is to be a chance left for
the second gun he must shoot before they are five yards nearer.

"Bang!" down comes the old cock bird; "bang!" and his mate follows
him, falling with a smash into the fence.

Quick as light Ida takes the empty gun with one hand, and as he swings
round passes him the cocked and loaded one with the other. "Bang!"
Another bird topples head first out of the thinned covey. They are
nearly sixty yards away now. "Bang!" again, and oh, joy and wonder!
the last bird turns right over backwards, and falls dead as a stone
some seventy paces from the muzzle of the gun.

He had killed four birds out of a single driven covey, which as
shooters well know is a feat not often done even by the best driving
shots.

"Bravo!" said Ida, "I was sure that you could shoot if you chose."

"Yes," he answered, "it was pretty good work;" and he commenced
collecting the birds, for by this time the beaters were across the
field. They were all dead, not a runner in the lot, and there were
exactly six brace of them. Just as he picked up the last, George
arrived, followed by Edward Cossey.

"Well I niver," said the former, while something resembling a smile
stole over his melancholy countenance, "if that bean't the masterest
bit of shooting that ever I did see. Lord Walsingham couldn't hardly
beat that hisself--fifteen empty cases and twelve birds picked up.
Why," and he turned to Edward, "bless me, sir, if I don't believe the
Colonel has won them gloves for Miss Ida after all. Let's see, sir,
you got two brace this last drive and one the first, and a leash the
second, and two brace and a hal