78 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



The morning was clear and beautiful, the sun shone 

 brightly, not a cloud broke the even smoothness of the 

 horizon. " Harry," said I, " we are going to have a 

 fine day. Little cool now, but the sun will soon warm 

 things up." 



" Don't know about that," replied he, " the barom- 

 eter indicates a storm." 



All this time the freight thundered along. We had 

 gone perhaps ten miles, when a huge, dark cloud sud- 

 denly lifted itself over the western hills. Steadily it 

 came along with incredible swiftness, covering like a 

 blanket the clear sky. The wind began to whistle 

 against the caboose, flakes of snow hurriedly scattered 

 through the air, as if frightened at their temerity, and 

 then fell, bowling over the frozen ground. The cold 

 screeching of the wind, as it blew through the telegraph 

 wires, made the chills run down my back. I looked 

 inquiringly at Harry, as if to say, " What do you think ? 

 Going to be a tough day, isn't it? " He evidently con- 

 strued my thoughts correctly, and gave me a knowing 

 wink, that I didn't know how to interpret. 



We soon arrived at the station. I cast a long dubious 

 look at the leaden sky, and turning to Harry, said, 

 " the day is going to be wet, nasty, and very disagree- 

 able. We are not out of meat at home, and are not 

 obliged to hunt. What do you say, shall we go on, re- 

 main out all day, get wet through and through, take 

 our chances on finding good hunting, or declare dis- 

 cretion the better part of valor, and return on the next 

 train ? " 



Candidly, I thought he would say, " let's go home." 

 Imagine my surprise, when he turned toward me, grim 

 determination depicted on his face, and said, " Entreat 



