My First of September. 63 



bit of Welsh blood in him, and was rather 

 peppery), he got into a passion, and began 

 to swear that he killed the bird. " By G — d, 

 sir ! that's my bird ; " and away he went and 

 picked it up. " That's my bird, sir, if ever I 

 shot a partridge in my life." 



This only made matters worse ; the tears ran 

 down my cheeks. Poor F. stared with all his 

 might, but gradually cooled down, still holding 

 the bird out at arm's-length between his finger 

 and thumb, in a way I cannot describe, but 

 which he appeared to think was evidence of 

 his having killed it. 



The squire rolled on the ground with a pain 

 in his side from laughing, and it w^as some 

 time before we could quiet ourselves down 

 sufficiently to tell him how we had served him. 

 There was no getting over it, for on his 

 appealing to the old keeper, he of course 

 confirmed it. It w^as rather a severe lesson, 

 but it cured him completely, for he never fired 

 at our birds again. Now, this man could give 

 a very fair account of his game when he was 

 by himself, but then he shot in something 

 like the same fashion as my old friend the 

 navy captain. The fact is, we were too quick 



