"Frank Forester!" exclaimed he once again. "Do see now--Harry missed
them partridge, and so he licks the poor dumb brute for it. I wish I
were a spannel, and he'd try it on with me!"
"I will, too," answered Archer, with a laugh; "I will, too, if you go
wish it, though you are not a spaniel, nor any thing else half so good.
And why, pray, should I not scourge this wild little imp? he ran slap
into the best pack of ruffed grouse I have seen this two years--fifteen
or sixteen birds. I wonder they're not scattered--it's full late to find
them packed!"
"Did you kill ere a one?" Tom holloaed; "not one, either of you!"
"I did," answered Harry, "I nailed the old cock bird, and a rare dog he
is!--two pounds, good weight, I warrant him," he added, weighing him as
he spoke. "Look at the crimson round his eye, Frank, like a cock
pheasant's, and his black ruff or tippet--by George! but he's a beauty!
And what did you do?" he continued.
"I bagged a brace--the only two that crossed me."
"Did you, though?" exclaimed Archer, with no small expression of
surprise; "did you, though?--that's prime work--it takes a thorough
workmen to bag a double shot upon October grouse.
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