'“Ah, yes,” said Green, rubbing his hands, “let us not forget the shooting. I 'm passionately fond of sport.”
'It took some time to caparison ourselves for the field. Shot-bags, flasks, and powder-horns were distributed about, while three brace of dogs caracoled round the room, and increased the uproar. We now sallied forth. It was a dark and starless night—the wind still Mowing a hurricane from the north-east, and not a thing to be seen two yards from where you stood.
'“Glorious weather!” said Oakley.
'“A delicious morning!” cried another. “When those clouds blow over we shall have no rain.”
'“That's a fine line of country, Mr. Green,” said I.
'“Eh? what? a fine what? I can see nothing—it's pitch dark.”
'“Ah, I forgot,” said I. “How stupid we were, Oakley, not to remember that Mr. Green was not used to our climate! We can see everything, you know; but come along, you'll get better by-and-by.”
'With this we hurried him down a lane, through a hedge, and into a ploughed field; while on every side of him pop, pop went the guns, accompanied by exclamations of enthusiastic pleasure and delight.
'“There they go—mark! That's yours, Tom! Well done—cock pheasant* by Jove! Here, Mr. Green! this way, Mr. Green! that dog is pointing—there, there! don't you see there?” said I, almost lifting the gun to his shoulder, while poor Mr. Green, almost in a panic of excitement and trepidation, pulled both triggers, and nearly fell back with the recoil.