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cling, a period of doubt, and then a rapid, insistent 

 tonguing, steadily increasing in power, told that 

 the quarry had decided to cross the road. 



And now the thrilling moment of hare shooting. 

 The animal might take the road for a distance, but 

 in all probability it would burst, like a puff of wind- 

 driven snow, from the cover, take two long leaps in 

 the open, then dive into the opposite cover with 

 all the headlong abandon of a big frog going to 

 water. Sharp work this, for there's no telling how 

 close behind the dog may be. 



We were both at the ready as need demanded. 

 A roar from the dog told that for an instant he had 

 sighted, then a long, white shape curved from the 

 brush to the road and rose again with rubbery ease. 

 Smooth, silent, swift as it was, the girl's trained 

 muscles beat it. I whirled about and humped my 

 back, for small shot stingeth like an adder, and even 

 a glancing pellet is bad for one's eye. As I 

 dodged, my ear caught the quick, vicious squinge- 

 squinge of the lightly charged shells, followed by a 

 ringing note. No mistaking the triumph vibrant 

 through that call the small hands, the keen young 

 eyes, had done the trick, and the old fool-teacher felt 

 prouder than if he had done it. 



Mutely eager, the dog flung himself across the 

 trail to make sure, then his sickle tail waved slowly 

 and proudly as he paused and snorted gruffly over 

 something in the snow. 



" Did I miss him ? " shrilled an anxious voice. 



Up went the dog's nose, and he jangled out his 

 version of " We killed the hare ! " 



" All right," I said as I picked up the fat fellow 



