“But do you think it really is one?” asked Hamilton, anxiously.
“Well, I don’t see it exactly, but then, you know, I’m near-sighted.”
“Don’t give him a chance of escape,” cried Harry, seeing that his friend was undecided. “If you really do see a bird, you’d better shoot it, for they’ve got a strong propensity to take wing when disturbed.”
Thus admonished Hamilton raised his gun and took aim. Suddenly he lowered his piece again, and looking round at Harry, said in a low whisper,—
“Oh, I should like so much to shoot it while flying! Would it not be better to set it up first?”
“By no means,” answered the accountant. “‘A bird in the hand,’ etc. Take him as you find him—look sharp; he’ll be off in a second.”
Again the gun was pointed, and, after some difficulty in taking aim, fired.
“Ah, what a pity you’ve missed him!” shouted Harry,
“But see, he’s not off yet; how tame he is, to be sure! Give him the other barrel, Hammy.”
This piece of advice proved to be unnecessary. In his anxiety to get the bird, Hamilton had cocked both barrels, and while gazing, half in disappointment, half in surprise, at the supposed bird, his finger unintentionally pressed the second trigger. In a moment the piece exploded. Being accidentally aimed in the right direction, it blew the lump of snow to atoms, and at the same time hitting its owner on the chest with the butt, knocked him over flat upon his back.