114 WARWICK WOODLANDS. 



"Something might not, if when you cleaned it last you 

 had laid a wad in the centre of a bit of greased rag three 

 inches square and rammed it about an inch down the 

 barrel, leaving the ends of the linen hanging out. And 

 by running your rod down you could have ascertained the 

 fact, without unnecessarily fouling your piece. A gun has 

 no right ever to miss fire now; and never does, if you use 

 Westley Richards' caps, and diamond gunpowder — putting 

 the caps on the last thing — which has the further ad- 

 vantage of being much the safer plan, and seeing that the 

 powder is up to the cones before you do so. If it is not 

 so, let your hammer down, and give a smart tap to the 

 underside of the breech, holding it uppermost, and you 

 will never need a picker; or at least almost never. Re- 

 member, too, that the best picker in the world is a strong 

 needle headed with sealing wax. And now that you have 

 finished loading, and I lectvaring, just jump over the fence 

 to your right; and that footpath will bring us to the 

 stepping-stones across the Ramapo. By Jove, but we shall 

 have a lovely morning." 



He did so, and away they went, with the dogs following 

 steadily at the heel, crossed the small river dry-shod, 

 climbed up the wooded bank by dint of hand and foot, 

 and reached the broad brown com stubble. Harry, how- 

 ever, did not wave his dogs to the right-hand and left, but 

 calling them in, quietly plodded along the headland, and 

 climbed another fence, and crossed a buckwheat stubble, 

 still without beating or disturbing any ground, and then 

 another field full of long bents and ragwort, an old desert- 

 ed pasture, and Frank began to grumble, but just then 

 a pair of bars gave access to a wide fifty acre lot, which 

 had been wheat, the stubble standing still knee deep, and 

 yielding a rare covert. 



"Now we are at the far end of our beat, and we have 

 got the wind too in the dogs' noses. Master Frank — and 

 so hold up. good lads," said Harry. And off the setters 

 shot like lightning, crossing and quartering their ground 

 superbly. 



"There! there! well done, old Chase — a dead stiff point 

 already, and Shot backing him as steady as a rail. Step 

 up, Frank, step up quietly, and let us keep the hill of 

 them." 



