ounts as feathers for the Shotover Cup."

"Oh! It's a skirmish line that walks straight ahead?" said Siward,
nodding.

"Straight ahead, Sir. No stoppin', no turnin' for hedges, fences, water
or rock. There is boats f'r deep water and fords marked and corduroy f'r
to pass the Seven Dreens. Luncheon at one, Miss--an hour's rest--then
straight on over hill, valley, rock, and river to the rondyvoo atop
Osprey Ledge. You'll see the poles and the big nests, Sir. It's there
they score for the cup, and there when the bag is counted, the traps are
ready to carry you home again." ... And to Siward: "Will you draw for your
lady, Sir? It is the custom."

"Are you my 'lady'?" he asked, turning to Sylvia.

"Do you want me?"

In the smiling lustre of her eyes the tiniest spark flashed out at
him--a hint of defiance for somebody, perhaps for Major Belwether who
had taken considerable pains to enlighten her as to Siward's condition
the night before; perhaps also for Quarrier, who had naturally expected
to act as her gun-bearer in emergencies. But the gaily veiled malice
of the one had annoyed her, and the cold assumption of the other had
irritated her, and she had, scarcely knowing why, turned her shoulder to
both of these gentlemen with an indefinite idea of escaping a pressure,
amounting almost to critical importunity.

"I'm probably a poor shot?" she said, looking smilingly, straight into
Siward's eyes. "But if you'll take me--"

"I will with pleasure," he said; "Dawson, do we draw for position? Very
well then"; and he drew a slip of paper from the box offered by the head
keeper.

"Number seven!" said Sylvia, looking over his shoulder. "Come out to the
starting line, Mr. Siward. All the positions are marked with golf-discs.
What sort of ground have we ahead, Dawson?"

"Kind o' stiff, Miss," grinned the keeper. "Pity your gentleman ain't
drawed the meadows an' Sachem Hill line. Will you choose your dog, Sir?"

"You have your dog, you know," observed Sylvia demurely. And Siward,
glancing among the impatient setters, saw one white, heavily feathered
dog, straining at his leash, and wagging frantically, brown eyes fixed
on him.

The next moment Sagamore was free, devouring his master with caresses,
the girl looking on in smiling silence; and presently, side by side, the
man, the girl, and the dog were strolling off to the starting line where
already people were gathering in groups, selecting dogs, fowling-pieces,
comparing