A Match at Chickens 183 



ground with a beautiful precision which spoke 

 eloquently of careful breaking and regular work. 

 But fast and game as he was, he had a worthy 

 rival. The big pointer white as marble with 

 the brand of the old blood, a lemon head 

 matched him stride for stride, going with a snap 

 and dash which augured ill for any dog at the 

 close of a day. 



At length the white dog swerved from a cross- 

 wind tack and went bounding up-wind for per- 

 haps one hundred yards. Then his gallop slowed 

 to a trot, the trot to a walk, and with head and 

 tail raised high above the line of his back, he 

 grandly drifted to his anchorage. Big and white, 

 he loomed large above the grass a glorious 

 image of steadfast purpose, which might well have 

 been carved from rarest marble by some master 

 hand of old. Presently the red fellow swung 

 about, and, instantly - grasping the situation, 

 stopped almost in a stride. He too might have 

 passed for some graven image, were it not that 

 the breeze rippled the silken feather of his quiver- 

 ing stern. 



" Out with you, gentleman. You're first, Mr. 



M- " said the colonel, as we descended. In 



a moment the " twelve " was snapped together, but 



M seemed to have a trifle of trouble. He 



muttered something to his friend, dropped a shell, 

 picked it up, and showed a slightly heightened 



