eee 
The Boy and the Lynx 
THE BOY 
E was barely fifteen, a lover 
of sport and uncommonly 
keen, even for a beginner. 
Flocks of Wild Pigeons had 
been coming all day across 
the blue Lake of Caygeo- 
null, and perching in lines 
on the dead limbs of the great rampikes 
that stood as monuments of fire, around the 
little clearing in the forest, they afforded tempt- 
ing marks; but he followed them for hours 
in vain. They seemed to know the exact 
range of the old-fashioned shotgun and rose 
on noisy wings each time before he was near 
169 
