"No excuse! no excuse!" said the priest, with a laugh. "If you do not kill five birds in succession, you are no match for the giant."
"Twit-r-r-r," and a swallow sailed by within ten feet of Owen's head.
"Twit-r-r-r-r," another had come and gone.
"Twit-r-r-r-r-r," and a third flew away unhurt.
"There!" exclaimed Father Byrne.
"There!" repeated Mr. Howard.
"I am waiting for one to come in the right direction," was the reply of the young marksman.
Soon one did come in the right direction. The rifle cracked, and the doomed bird fell to the ground with a flutter.
"Lo'd, dat's a shootin' boy!" exclaimed Mose, who just then appeared at the door of the negro cabin, and with this exclamation he began a lively jig on his fiddle.
"Twit-r-r-r-r,"—bang; and Wash, who had also appeared on the scene, ran for the second swallow.