The Quail 7j 



less to say, he should not be killed for any pur- 

 pose. 



A DAY OVER DOGS 



You've seen an old cart-horse — one of the sort 

 with spavins, and splints, and grease-heel, and poll- 

 evil, and a few little things like that — released in 

 pasture ? You've seen his ponderous joy as he 

 grasped the fact that for a time at least he was 

 free from galling straps ; you've seen him put his 

 tail up and snort, then take a good, grunty old 

 roll, and wind up with a stiff-jointed trot around 

 and a few extra fool-capers on the side? Well, I 

 felt just that way. 



All one night I had whirled westward, sleeping 

 like a winter bear, content with my single dream 

 that I was flying farther and farther from the 

 deep city canons of Gotham. Then a black 

 hand pawed at me, and a voice said : " Git up. 

 Boss, — you done got but ten minutes ! " 



He was right, as porters always are, and, as I 

 hurried through dressing, an occasional peep 

 through the window detected thickets and bits of 

 woodland which were strangely familiar., There 

 were the old grounds, now; so the letter had' said, 

 carrying a grand' crop, of quail, and; heife I was 

 almost ready; and almost arriived. A few miinutes 

 later; that best of felliows, whom I shall call 

 " Doc," was leading the way to his snug resi- 

 (Jenpe, aijid felling me all about it. The dogs 



