The Quail 49 



halt was called for a bite, after which he pulled 

 out nearly a score of fine birds for inspection. 

 He was as happy as a big, care-free boy, for he 

 had shot in perfect form, and was delighted with 

 his new game ; but suddenly his merry comments 

 ceased, and his face crimsoned. He had just 

 noticed the brown throats of half his prizes, and 

 a horrible thought troubled him. 



"Great h-e-a-v-e-n-s ! " he gasped, "I've been 

 shooting hens — s-e-e-d h-e-n-s!" 



He looked as though he wished the earth 

 would open and take him in, but fortunately the 

 remedy was at hand. A quick showing of the 

 other bag, which contained a fair proportion of 

 both sexes, reassured him ; but, as he expressed it, 

 he had had " a bad turn." When the outing was 

 done, he went back to his regiment, and was in 

 all probability the best quail shot on the roll. 

 Years passed, and his regiment, with many an- 

 other, was in the field. A town full of women 

 and children was besieged and in desperate straits. 

 There was a forced march to the rescue. Later 

 to the writer came a letter addressed in a perfectly 

 villanous scrawl. The writing inside was worse, 

 and it ran — "Dear old Chap — Pardon left 

 maulie — I lost the other and a lot of the arm. 

 Must practise one-handed. But we saved the 

 s-e-e-d h-e-n-s!" He had not forgotten during 

 all those years. What the women he so gallantly 



