OUR TROPHIES. 



G. A. MACK. 



Genevieve, only daughter of the Hon. 

 P. D. McDodd, is a witching brunette, 

 little and lithe. The McDodds are the 

 truffles on the rich brown social crust of 

 our village. For me Genevieve's charms, 

 physical and monetary, are a thousand fold 

 enhanced by her fondness for all sports 

 O. K'd by fashion. She can ride, swim, 

 row, shoot, golf, tennis and bridge whist. 



I had met her at small affairs., in the 

 neighborhood, and had even been bidden 

 to more formal receptions at Doddhurst, 

 her palatial home; but what I most en- 

 joyed was her companionship afield. She 

 frequently, gun in hand, rambled the woods 

 of her father's estate, accompanied only 

 by her dog. As the McDodd property was 

 not posted, it became my habit to roam 

 thereon in hope of meeting the fair hunt- 

 ress. From our first chance encounter, 

 when I succeeded in finding a wounded 

 ringtail pheasant that had baffled the 

 sagacity of the lady's retrieving dachs- 

 hund, to our last, when I received with 

 Christian fortitude a charge of shot in- 

 tended for a heath hen, life seemed Elysian. 

 The trifling contretemps I have mentioned 

 necessarily parted us a while. But what 

 is an ounce of bird shot to a lover? A 

 cnarge of canister might have cooled my 

 ardor in the grave ; Genevieve's No. 8's 

 but stimulated my devotion. 



It was a crisp October morn when, al- 

 most recovered from saving the heath hen, 

 though still feeling twitchy in spots, I 

 ventured on a walk. The sunshine and the 

 bracing air keyed my ambition to a higher 

 pitch. I determined to do what heretofore 

 I had never dared — ask Miss McDodd to 

 go shooting. Had the distance been great- 

 er my courage would surely have failed 

 me. As it was, my agitation was so ap- 

 parent that the butler eyed me sharply, be- 

 fore, coughing tentatively to warn the foot- 

 man, he carried my card upstairs.. Present- 

 ly the radiant, nay, iridescent Genevieve 

 appeared. 



"I have called, Miss McDodd," I said, 

 "to ask you to go shooting. See how the 

 benignant sun is irradiating the benevo- 

 lent earth. All is peace and beauty; let's 

 go out and kill something." 



And carried away by emotion I burst into 

 unaffected poetry. 



"O, wend with me the wildwood glades, 

 To coverts where the woodcock drums. 



The while the long billed partridge spades 

 The rich dank soil in search of wums; 



Where the coy blue jay lurks discreetly 



And all day long doth sing as sweetly 

 As any starlin'. 



Come where the dastard coon doth quake 

 When chipmunks bellow on 'his trail; 



Where coils the fearsome garter snake 

 With forty buttons on his tail; 



Then wend with me the woodland way 



And these weird creatures we will slay, 

 All with your Marlin." 



As I proceeded Genevieve's cheeks 

 flushed with excitement, her eyes found 

 added brilliance, her bosom heaved tumul- 

 tuously. Throwing her petite form into my 

 arms, she exclaimed : 



"We will, Montmorency, we will ! That 

 is," she added archly, investing with subtle 

 femininity the sportsmanly terms she used, 

 "that is, we will if the bally old gun doesn't 

 jam." 



Then bidding me wait, she tripped light- 

 ly upstairs. Presently she returned and 

 we were soon following the path to the 

 woods. Genevieve's short skirt, little gait- 

 ers and plump calves presented so alluring 

 an ensemble that bereaved cows mooed 

 coaxingly. She carried, not her Marlin 

 (that, it seems, was at the plumber's), but 

 a beautiful double barrel 8-bore hainmerless 

 repeater, made by Topper, of London. I 

 had my favorite "Good Enough," made in 

 Bruges for W. Moore's Sons. 



Never before nor since have I found 

 game in such abundance and variety as on 

 that day. Scarce had we entered the wood 

 when we were aware of the multitude of 

 forest-folk there gathered. There the squir- 

 rel crept stealthily through the herbage, on 

 prey intent. There, pop went the aerial 

 weasel from tree to tree. Rabbits ran 

 hither and thither uttering their sharp bark, 

 or swung by their tails from ragweed 

 boughs, contentedly munching chestnuts. 

 Muskrats peeped timidly from their dens 

 in hollow trees, dreading the nighthawk's 

 deadly swoop. Quails chirped merrily in 

 the beech trees. Flocks of ring doves in 

 the beech trees. Flocks of ring doves, in 

 if to drown the plaintive autumnal fugue of 

 the catbird. , 



Long we paused, spellbound by these 

 revelations of nature. At last we moved 

 onward through darkened dells and tangled 

 brake. We had not sought the sylvan 

 solitude to molest the smaller and unwary 

 game. Far back in deep umbrageous nooks 

 our quarry lurked; for we had that day 

 vowed to slay a chuck. SilentTy we stole 

 along, intent on surprising our formidable 

 game. Every resource of woodcraft was 

 called in play, alas in vain ! I was about 

 suggesting that we return when my com- 

 panion forestalled me. 



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