Winter at Hazelbarn. 159 



B ut the lady was equal to the occasion. As the boy looked 

 on with mouth wide agape she gracefully handed the gun to 

 me, with the observation 



" There is no necessity for me to hold the gun any more, 

 is there?" 



The curate overcoming the man, Vernon glanced a 

 reproach at his wife. Assuring herself that the rustic was 

 beyond hearing, she said, demurely 



" Well, Charlie, I've heard you say there may be occasions 

 when it is right to do evil that good may come. I don't say 

 it is right, dear, but that it may be." 



I wonder whether the lady saw that approving wink passed 

 from Charlie to me. 



The curate, by the way, doesn't shoot. His eyesight is 

 not good, and if the truth must be told he is, as the world 

 would esteem him, rather a milk-soppy gentleman ; a capital 

 fellow, of course, and all that sort of thing, but not a person 

 who would be likely to run King Solomon very close in a 

 competition of wisdom. Stuffing birds is more in his way 

 than shooting them. Mrs. G. V. says she would never 

 have followed the sport of fowling had not the desire been 

 fostered by a genuine love of natural science. The amiable 

 couple consequently divide the labour ; she brings down the 

 game, he sets them up, and the collection of feathered 

 varieties at the parsonage is as interesting as it is valuable. 



As an angler, the Rev. Green Vernon is distinguished 

 more by enthusiasm than by cleverness, but he is a capital 

 angling companion when you know him so intimately that 

 you can speak your mind as plainly as circumstances render 

 necessary. In other words, the reverend fisherman wants 

 rousing occasionally into an atmosphere of common sense. 

 His line somehow has a provokingly natural tendency to 

 foul mine ; the splashing of his bait is enough to scare away 



