“Look out that you don’t shoot either of us,” said Philip.
“I am not after such game as that,” said Harry.
He took the gun, and began to look attentively in different directions, lest any chance should escape him. At length he espied a partridge. He raised his gun quickly, took instant but accurate aim, and fired. The bird was seen to flutter an instant and then fall.
“You’ve got him!” exclaimed Congreve, excitedly.
Harry ran in the direction of the bird’s fall, and returned, flushed with success. Philip’s envy was aroused, inasmuch as a partridge was a more valuable prize than a crow.
“You were lucky,” he said, with his usual sneer. “It was fortunate for you that the bird got in the way.”
“Rather unfortunate for the partridge, though!” said Harry, coolly.
“It wouldn’t happen once in fifty times,” continued Philip.
“This isn’t the first partridge I’ve shot,” answered Harry, quietly.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you’re a first-class gunner.”