FEENCH NOTIONS OF A SETTEE. Ill 



got the right thing, if he is as good as he looks to 

 be." 



" Oh, yes, he is good, — but he is not a setter." 

 " Not a setter ! " I cried, rubbing my hat upon my 

 head, as if I desired to be bald for life ; then casting 

 aside all indignation, I repeated, "Not a setter! 

 Now, my dear Jules, you are a sensible fellow, and 

 I must think you have good grounds for contradicting 

 me about a dog whose breed I will swear is of English 

 or Irish extraction. If he is not a setter, with that 

 nice flowing silken yellow coat, and beautifully fea- 

 thered stern, what is he then ? " 



" Oh, no, he is not a setter ; he is a pointer." 

 " A pointer ! Why ? " 



" Oh, he always points his game ; he never sets." 

 Had I not been close to the fire-place I should have 

 fainted, so, instead of falling, I dived into a corner 

 outside the door where I had left my fishing-rod, and 

 began to take off the cover. Having finished my 

 preparation for fishing so far, I looked in to see if 

 Jules was after his minnow net, for the morning was 

 getting on, and I was anxious to begin. My readers 

 will then imagine my astonishment as well as im- 

 patience w^hen I beheld him at the kitchen-table, 

 attended by some old ladies in wooden shoes, and in 

 the act of tying up two large glass bottles, as I 



