TWO SHOTS 



the charge explodes, and out of a cloud 

 of feathers drifting and whirling in the 

 eddies of his own wing-beats, the noble 

 bird sweeps downward in the continua- 

 tion of the course that ends with a dull 

 thud on the pasture sward. 



The old sportsman lifts his clean- 

 killed bird without a thrill of exultation 

 — he is only devoutly thankful for the 

 happy circumstance which made suc- 

 cessful the last shot he will ever fire, 

 and that not as a miss he may remem- 

 ber it. Henceforth untouched by him 

 his gun shall hang upon the wall, its 

 last use linked with the pleasant mem- 

 ory of his last shot. 



195 



