HORACE did not change countenance 

 or offer even a formal objection when 

 I seized him, stuffed him — I do not know 

 which end foremost — into the pocket of my 

 shooting-coat, and upon him deposited a 

 ham sandwich. He may have enjoyed the 

 jaunt I gave him that fine March morning. 

 To tell the whole truth, I forgot all about 

 him and the luncheon until after a long, 

 breezy tramp through an orchard-land, 

 the pear-trees flecked with snowy blooms 

 and the peach-clumps still shimmering in 

 a robe of dreamy pink, and after two 

 hours of shooting in a verdant marsh-mea- 

 dow, when I sat down to rest on the but- 

 tressed roots of a small live-oak, which 

 stood solitary beside a little creek or tide- 

 way. Then a nip of hunger sent my hand 

 162 



