It was scarce eight o'clock when we went out,
each on a separate beat, having arranged our routes so as to meet at one
o'clock in the great swamp, said to abound, beyond all other places, in
the ruffed grouse or partridge, to the pursuit of which especially we
had devoted our last day.
"Now, Frank," said Harry, "you have done right well throughout the week;
and if you can stand this day's tramp, I will say for you that you are a
sportsman, aye, every inch of one. We have got seven miles right hard
walking over the roughest hills you ever saw--the hardest moors of
Yorkshire are nothing to them--before we reach the swamp, and that
you'll find a settler! Tom, here, will keep along the bottoms, working
his way as best he can; while we make good the uplands! Are your flasks
full?"
"Sartain, they are!" cried Tom--"and I've got a rousin big black bottle,
too--but not a drop of the old cider sperrits do you git this day, boys;
not if your thirsty throats were cracking for it!"
"Well, well! we won't bother you--you'll need it all, old porpoise,
before you get to the far end. Here, take a hard boiled egg or two,
Frank, and some salt, and I'll pocket a few biscuits--we must depend on
ourselves to-day.
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