"So you've had bad success to-day," continued Mr. Ringgan,
"Where have you been? and what after? partridges?"
"No, Sir," said Mr. Carleton, "my friend Rossitur promised me a rare bag of woodcock, which I understand to be the best of American feathered game; and, in pursuance of his promise, led me over a large extent of meadow and swamp land, this morning, with which, in the course of several hours, I became extremely familiar, without flushing a single bird."
"Meadow and swamp land!" said the old gentleman.
"Whereabouts?"
"A mile or more beyond the little village over here, where we left our horses," said Rossitur. "We beat the ground well, but there were no signs of them even."
"We had not the right kind of dog," said Mr. Carleton.
"We had the kind that is always used here," said Rossitur; "nobody knows anything about a Cocker in America."
"Ah, it was too wet," said Mr. Ringgan. "I could have told you that. There has been too much rain. You wouldn't find a woodcock in that swamp, after such a day as we had a few days ago. But speaking of game, Mr. Rossitur, I don't know anything in America equal to the grouse. It is far before woodcock. I remember, many years back, going a grouse shooting, I and a friend, down in Pennsylvania; we went two or three days running, and the birds we got were worth a whole season of woodcock. But, gentlemen, if you are not discouraged with your day's experience, and want to try again, I'll put you in a way to get as many woodcock as will satisfy you if you'll come here to-morrow morning. I'll go out with you far enough to show you the way to the best ground I know for shooting that game in all this country; you'll have a good chance for partridges, too, in the course of the day; and that aint bad eating, when you can't get better is it, Fairy?" he said, with a sudden smiling appeal to the little girl at his side. Her answer again was only an intelligent glance.
The young sportsmen both thanked him and promised to take advantage of his kind offer. Fleda seized the opportunity to steal another look at the strangers; but meeting Mr. Carleton's eyes fixed on her with a remarkably soft and gentle expression, she withdrew her own again as fast as possible, and came to the conclusion that the only safe place for them was the floor.
"I wish I was a little younger, and I'd take my gun and go along with you myself," said the old gentleman, pleasantly; "but," he added, sighing, "there is a time for everything, and my time for sporting is past."
"You have no right to complain, Sir," said Mr. Carleton, with a meaning glance and smile, which the old gentleman took in excellent good part.