But not in the
least was Frank flurried now. He dropped his ramrod quietly upon the
grass, brought up his piece deliberately to his eye, and killed his bird
again.
"Excellent--excellent! Frank," said Harry again. "I never saw two
prettier shots in all my life. Nor did I ever see birds lie harder."
During all this time, amidst all the kicking of tussocks, threshing of
bog-grass, and banging of guns, and, worst of all, bouncing up of fresh
birds, from the instant when they dropped at the first shot, neither one
of Harry's dogs, nor Tom's little Dash, had budged from their down
charge. Now, however, they got up quickly, and soon retrieved all the
dead birds. "Now, then, we will divide into two parties," said Harry.
"Frank, you go with Tom; and you come with me, Commodore. It will never
do to have you two jealous fellows together, you wont kill a bird all
day," he added, in a lower voice. "That is the worst of old Tom, when he
gets jealous he's the very devil. Frank is the only fellow that can get
along with him at all. He puts me out of temper, and if we both got
angry, it would be very disagreeable. For, though he is the very best
fellow in the world, when he is in a rage he is untamable.
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