Philip turned and surveyed the newcomers in apparent surprise.
“Are you out gunning?” he asked.
“Yes. I have secured a guide, as you see, fearing I might get lost in
the woods. I believe you know him?”
“I have that honor,” said Philip, superciliously.
This was so much in Philip’s ordinary style that Harry did not dream
there was any collusion between them, and that Philip was here by
appointment.
“You haven’t explained how you happen to be here,” said Congreve.
“I? Oh, I had a little headache, and I thought I would take a walk in
the fresh air.”
“Won’t you join us?” asked Congreve.
“I don’t know,” said Philip, irresolutely.
Harry, supposing his indecision might spring from a dislike to his
presence, here spoke up:
“Perhaps you won’t want me any longer, as you have met Philip.”
“Oh, yes I do. He may not care to stay with me all the afternoon, as he
has a headache.”
“Probably I shan’t be with you more than half an hour,” said Philip.
“I’ll walk a little way into the wood.”
“Come along, then.”
So the three passed into the woods together, Congreve in the middle,
with Philip on one side and Harry on the other.
Philip and Congreve engaged in conversation, the latter apparently
forgetting that he had a gun on his shoulder. Harry, however,
remembered that he was guide to a sportsman, and kept on the lookout
for birds.
“Hush! There’s a partridge,” he said, touching Congreve’s arm and
pointing to the bird.
James Congreve quickly brought his gun to rest and fired. He had very
little skill, however, and the startled bird flew away, in less danger
than if the gun had been in the hands of Harry.
“I didn’t have time to take aim,” said Congreve, apologetically. “Can
you shoot?”
“A little,” answered Harry, modestly.
“If I had had the gun the bird wouldn’t have got away,” said Philip,
boastfully.
“Take it, then,” said Congreve.
“All right!”
So Philip took the gun and began to look out for birds.
He soon had an opportunity to show his skill. A bird was seen flying
slowly through the air.
“There’s your chance, Phil!” said Congreve, quickly.
Philip raised the gun awkwardly, and it went off in quite a different
direction from the one contemplated. But, as luck would have it, a
foolish crow got in the way just at the critical moment, and received
the charge meant for another object.
“There; do you see that?” exclaimed Philip, triumphantly.
“You don’t mean to say you intended to shoot that crow?” asked
Congreve.
“Of course I did!” answered Philip shortly, determined to get the
credit of his success.
Harry could not help smiling. “What are you laughing at?” demanded
Philip, scowling.
“At the mistake I made,” answered Harry, good-humoredly. “I thought you
were firing at the partridge.”
“You see you were mistaken,” said Philip, offensively.
“I see I was,” returned Harry, quietly.
He thought it was foolish to get angry about such a trifle.
“Go and get the crow,” said Philip, arrogantly.
It had fallen among some underbrush not far away.
“Shall I?” asked Harry, turning to Congreve, whom he recognized as his
employer, and the only one entitled to order him about.
“What do you want it for, Philip?” asked Congreve. “It’s only a
crow—good for nothing.”
“Never mind; I want it,” answered Philip.
In truth, it was the first bird he had ever succeeded in shooting,
though he would not have been willing to acknowledge this, and he
wanted to display it at home as a trophy of his skill.
“Then you may get it,” said Congreve, who, in spite of his dishonorable
character, was, in manners, more of a gentleman than Philip.
Harry at once plunged into the thicket, and not without difficulty
succeeded in finding the crow, which he brought out and delivered to
Philip. The latter only consented to carry it on account of the pride
he felt in his success as a sportsman.
“Here, take this gun, Gilbert, and try your luck next,” said Congreve.
“I suppose he will eclipse us all,” Philip remarked, with a sneer.
“I don’t know about that,” returned Harry, good-naturedly. “I haven’t
been out many times, not having any gun of my own.”
“Look out that you don’t shoot either of us,” said Philip.
“I am not after such game as that,” said Harry.
He took the gun, and began to look attentively in different directions,
lest any chance should escape him. At length he espied a partridge. He
raised his gun quickly, took instant but accurate aim, and fired. The
bird was seen to flutter an instant and then fall.
“You’ve got him!” exclaimed Congreve, excitedly.
Harry ran in the direction of the bird’s fall, and returned, flushed
with success. Philip’s envy was aroused, inasmuch as a partridge was a
more valuable prize than a crow.
“You were lucky,” he said, with his usual sneer. “It was fortunate for
you that the bird got in the way.”
“Rather unfortunate for the partridge, though!” said Harry, coolly.
“It wouldn’t happen once in fifty times,” continued Philip.
“This isn’t the first partridge I’ve shot,” answered Harry, quietly.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you’re a first-class gunner.”
“I have great doubts on that subject myself,” said Harry.
“You’ve both of you succeeded, while I shall have to go home
empty-handed,” said Congreve, who had no particular ambition to shine
as a sportsman.
“You’ll have a chance soon to try again,” said Harry.
By this time they had penetrated a considerable distance into the wood,
and Philip grew impatient to carry out the plan which, from the first,
they had had in view.
“Isn’t it about time?” he asked, significantly.
“Just as you say,” replied Congreve, indifferently.
As he spoke he drew from his pocket a ball of strong cord, and both
boys—if Congreve can be called one—looked significantly at our hero.
“What’s coming?” thought Harry, perplexed.
He found out soon enough.