BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. 133 



A hedge runs through the field in which we 

 are walking. I am helping Staunton over it, 

 having gained the top and laid down my gun. 



" Mark cock ! Mark cock ! " 



Two splendid birds rush from the wood 

 within ten yards of us. I let go Staunton's 

 hand, and he flops into a thicket of briars. I 

 make a hopeless, staggering shot, and tumble 

 back on him myself. I am sorry to say that 

 Dick, the retriever, was never so near coming 

 to an untimely end, as he was at that moment. 

 The charges from both barrels struck the 

 ground about ten yards from where I fired, 

 within a few inches of his ear. Serve him 

 right for neglecting his manners, and going 

 over a hedge without express orders, before a 

 gun. 



Staunton cuts rather a rueful figure as he 

 extricates himself from the prickly furze. 



"Mark cock!" 



"Ha! he has it." 



" Mark cock ! Mark cock ! " 



Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang! from my uncle's 

 side. 



"What's that, Jack?" 



