TWO SHOTS 



beat of wings upon the leaf-strewn earth. 

 With heart beating as fast he runs toward 

 the sound, afraid to believe his senses, 

 when he sees a noble grouse fluttering 

 out feebly his last gasp. He cannot be 

 sure that it is not all a dream that may 

 vanish in a breath, till he has the bird 

 safe in his hand, and then he is faint 

 with joy. Was there ever such a shot ? 

 Would that all the world were here to 

 see, for who can believe it just for the 

 telling } There never will be another 

 such a bird, nor such a shot, for him. 

 He fires a dozen ineffectual ones at fair 

 marks that day, but the glory of that 

 one shot would atone for twice as many 

 misses, and he need not tell of them, 

 only of this, whereof he bears actual 

 proof, though he himself can hardly ac- 

 cept it, till again and again he tests it by 

 admiring look and touch. 



Years after the killing of grouse on 

 the wing has become a matter-of-course 

 occurrence in his days of upland shoot- 

 ing, the memory of this stands clearest 

 and best. Sixty years later the old 

 wood road winds through the same 

 scene, by some marvel of kindliness or 

 191 



