Sandie now addressed a few words to Maggie May in the Gaelic, and she smiled as she gave a brief reply.
The truth is, that with the screw end of the ramrod Sandie could easily have drawn the wad and emptied the gun; but as Willie did not know this, his companion determined to do nothing of the kind; for, if he did, he felt certain in his own mind that one of the dogs would be shot ere sundown, even if no more terrible tragedy should occur.
“What am I to do?” cried poor Willie, looking the very picture of disconsolation.
“There is a blacksmith,” said Sandie, “lives about five miles from here, who, I dare say, in three or four hours could put matters right. But I’m not sure.”
“And my sport is ended for the day?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Heu! me miserum! as the Latin Grammar says. I’m in the dumps.”
And he looked so sad that Maggie May positively felt sorry for him.
They adjourned now to the corries, and all the forenoon was spent among the rabbits. Here they certainly made a good bag—two good bags—though they would have done better had they faced the bunnies in the open or in the woods. Among the corries there was so much cover, so many stones, and burrows or caves, and rabbits have a disagreeable habit of dragging themselves out of sight even when all but dead. Carlo, the retriever, however, did most excellent work, and succeeded in dragging many a rabbit to bank, even after it had almost disappeared.
About two o’clock Maggie May frankly expressed herself as being hungry, and Willie said he was famishing, though he hadn’t fired a shot.