“Beaters was it you had?” asked Chisholm.
“Yes, we had no dogs; but good sport, mind you—right and left sometimes, and one to each barrel if you only chose to hold straight.”
About the third morning, when Gearge came to the tent as usual, his face seemed rounder and redder than ever; his eyes, too, were so wreathed in smile-begotten wrinkles that they had almost disappeared. It was moreover observed that the pockets of his cow-gown were more bulky than usual.
“We’ll have a rare lark to-day,” said Gearge, pulling out first one polecat ferret and then another.
And so they had; for what with working the banks all the morning and shooting the rabbits in the open that succeeded in running the blockade, they had wonderful bags. Though Frank didn’t say much, he was glad to get back to the tent; his feet were swollen, and he could hardly carry his gun. He was certainly “bein’ broke” with a vengeance.
Chapter Three.
Frank is thoroughly “Hardened Off”—Deer-stalking in the Highlands—Partridge, Pheasant, and Duck Shooting—“Good-bye”—“None but the Brave deserve the Fair.”
