ng on the
wall of the bridge.

"Because he made an ass of himself; asking me whether I could shoot."

On the next morning they started at seven. Dobbes had determined to
be cross, because, as he thought, the young men would certainly keep
him waiting; and was cross because by their punctuality they robbed
him of any just cause for offence. During the morning on the moor
they were hardly ever near enough each other for much conversation,
and very little was said. According to arrangement made they returned
to the house for lunch, it being their purpose not to go far from
home till their numbers were complete. As they came over the bridge
and put down their guns near the door, Mr. Dobbes spoke the first
good-humoured word they had heard from his lips. "Why did you tell me
such an infernal--, I would say lie, only perhaps you mightn't like
it?"

"I told you no lie," said Gerald.

"You've only missed two birds all the morning, and you have shot
forty-two. That's uncommonly good sport."

"What have you done?"

"Only forty," and Mr. Dobbes seemed for the moment to be gratified
by his own inferiority. "You are a deuced sight better than your
brother."

"Gerald's about the best shot I know," said Silverbridge.

"Why didn't he tell?"

"Because you were angry when we said the place was ugly."

"I see all about it," said Dobbes. "Nevertheless when a fellow comes
to shoot he shouldn't complain because a place isn't pretty. What you
want is a decent house as near as you can have it to your ground. If
there is anything in Scotland to beat Crummie-Toddie I don't know
where to find it. Shooting is shooting you know, and touring is
touring."

Upon that he took very kindly to Lord Gerald, who, even after the
arrival of the other men, was second only in skill to Dobbes himself.
With Nidderdale, who was an old companion, he got on very well.
Nidderdale ate and drank too much, and refused to be driven beyond a
certain amount of labour, but was in other respects obedient and knew
what he was about. Popplecourt was disagreeable, but he was a fairly
good shot and understood what was expected of him. Silverbridge
was so good-humoured, that even his manifest faults,--shooting
carelessly, lying in bed and wanting his dinner,--were, if not
forgiven, at least endured. But Tregear was an abomination. He could
shoot well enough and was active, and when he was at the work seemed
to like it;--but he would stay away whole days by himself