96 SHOOTING THE PARTRIDGE 



was a very fine shot, one of the best I ever saw, and 

 perfectly wrapped up in it. Nobody shot over the 

 estate but him and his sons, and I verily believe 

 that all he knew of Mr. Gladstone was that he had 

 once been a shooter and had lost a finger through 

 th accidental discharge of the second barrel while 

 loading a muzzle-loader. He always promised my 

 father that he would send me home if I fired a 

 dangerous shot, and he kept his word. Well do I 

 recollect the humiliated frame of mind in which I 

 loitered home about 3 P.M., having killed nothing my- 

 self all day, and had my gun taken away from me for 

 nearly shooting Hirst junior. Did I go straight in 

 and confess ? No, I did not ; I crept through the 

 park, loafing and lying about out of sight under the 

 great trees which Mr. Gladstone and his axe have 

 since made so famous, and the incident blew over. 

 I never heard any more of it. But it did me a world 

 of good, and many a time since when I have seen the 

 inevitable duffer plugging at low pheasants, and heard 

 the offensive rattle of misdirected shot in the twigs 

 about me, have I wished that the shooter were under 

 discipline, and that I were old Hirst and could send 

 him home. 



Hirst backed himself on one occasion to hit 495 

 penny pieces out of 500 thrown up. He won his bet, 



