Having taken this dreadful resolution, the two set off for the rendezvous, where they arrived just in time to meet with the other hunters.
“Ho!” cried Steve, when he observed Will’s gloomy looks. “Ho, old fellow! your face indicates a moody mood.”
“Well,” snarled Will, “have you shot some school-boy’s grammar, and read it through?”
Then he narrated his encounter with the man in the forest.
It was received with plaintive cries of astonishment, anger, and horror.
“Well, Will,” said Steve after the first paroxysms of rage had subsided, “I gather two morals—morals full of instruction, too—from your narrative.”
As no one inquired what these “morals” might be, the speaker was obliged to resume his discourse rather awkwardly. But no one could cow Steve into silence.
“Yes, boys; two morals——”
A pause—in vain.
“Two morals, I say. In the first place, when you are in a forest like this, always protect the fourth member of the left paw with a sculptured silver ring. In the second place, never fire at a partridge when a jewelled rustic occupies a log some thirty feet southeast of your left ear, as Marmaduke hints this one did. It is as dangerous as a nest of hornets on the North Pole.”