"You don't deserve anything," I told him. "I want my stag."

"_Mademoiselle est servie_" he said, laughing. "And you are indeed a most
lucky young woman."

"Where is it? Where is it?" I cried. "You are trying to be as mean as can
be just now, and I won't speak to you again to-day or any other day if
you don't stop."

But I was looking around as I spoke and suddenly, under a little clump of
birches, I saw something that made my heart beat fast again, and I dashed
away, shouting, as I verily believe, and running as fast as the deer when
I had last seen him. I had the advantage of the start and I beat the
doctor to the quarry. It was lying there, the most splendid thing you
ever saw, and I am sure I spoke in awed tones, as one does in a big
cathedral.

"I had no idea that it would be so big. Oh! The beautiful clean limbs!
And what a head! Those big flat horns in front that run down nearly to
his muzzle are just wonderful! It seems to me that I just saw him for a
second and pulled the trigger, and there was a little report that I
scarcely heard, just as if the gun was a little toy thing, and now he is
lying there and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry."

"You should be glad," he told me. "You might hunt for many months without
meeting with such a head as that. Now that it is all over it may seem a
bit tragic, but you must remember he was just a tremendous, handsome
brute, ready at all times to fight others to the death, to kill them in
his blind fury of jealousy. And those who fall to the gun may perhaps
have met the best end of all. Think of the poor old stags dragging
themselves to some tangle in order to escape the wolves or bears and
lynxes, and whose last glances reveal things creeping towards them or
great birds waiting to peck their eyes out. Man is seldom as cruel as
nature proves to be, for it is everywhere harsh and brutal. Little dramas
are constantly taking place under this very moss we tread, and those dear
little black-headed birds, over there in the bushes, are killing all day
long. You and I realize that the killing is the least part of the sport,
but we wanted meat and came out for it ourselves, instead of hiring
butchers to do the slaughtering for us. Moreover, you have a trophy which
you will take back with you, and which will be one more souvenir of
Sweetapple Cove."

I felt that I was brightening up again.

"How beautiful it is!" I said again, quite consoled. "Look at that long,
white