"Yes, but it is strictly preserved," replied the coachman.
"So much the better," said our friend, "there will be all the more game."
In fact, before they had gone quite a mile from the town, Frisk, who had given various signs of impatience, sprang out of the carriage, rushed into a field of clover, and pointed.
"Shall I go on or wait," enquired the driver, seeing the young man loading his gun.
"Go on a yard, or two," was the answer. "There, that will do; now, draw up as near to the field as you can."
The carriage, with the sportsman standing up in it, gun in hand, halted within thirty yards of the dog. The driver looked on with all the interest of his class, an interest which is always on the side of the sportsman and hostile to the landlord and the gamekeeper. "That is a clever dog," he remarked. "What is he pointing at?"
"It is a hare."
"How do you know?"
"Had it been a bird he would have wagged his tail. See."
A big leveret showed itself among the clover and fell a victim to the gun. It was promptly brought in by Frisk. Further on a covey of partridges was seen, but the dog was called off, and the young brood left in peace. They were already approaching Hanover when a startled hare was seen some sixty yards from the carriage.