tation of Providence. Mr. Kincaid spoke for
them. In the end it was decided, though with many misgivings and more
admonitions.

"Keep the muzzle pointed up; never get excited; never shoot at anything
unless you _know_ what it is," was Mr. Kincaid's summing up.

These three precepts were so constantly impressed that to the boys their
practice ended by becoming second nature.

"It's not only dangerous to do these things," said Mr. Kincaid, "but
it's a sure sign of a greenhorn. A man ought to be deadly ashamed to
confess himself such an all-round dub."

Toward the end of the fall, and nearing Thanksgiving, the boys drove
Bobby Junior out the old east road. After a time they turned off into a
by-way deep with sand. It ended. They hitched the placid Bobby Junior to
the top rail of a "snake-fence" climbed it, and headed toward a
scrub-oak and popple thicket thrown like a blanket over the long slope
of a hill. They walked cautiously, for by experience they had learned
that at the very edge, and in the lea of an old burned log, it was
possible a fine big cock-partridge might be sunning himself. The
popples, shining silvery, were almost bare of leaves, but the scrub oaks
clung tenaciously to a crackling umber-brown foliage. It was now near
the close of the afternoon. The game bag was empty. Both boys trod on
eggs, scrutinizing every inch of the ground before them.

"It's too late for 'em," whispered Bobby in discouragement. "There's not
enough sun. They've gone in to feed."

But Johnnie seized his arm.

"There," he breathed, "See him! He's sitting in that little scrub
oak--just to the left of the stub."

Bobby peered along his friend's arm. After a moment he made out a
mottled spot of brown.

"I see him," said he, cocking his rifle. "It's his breast. I wish I
could get at his head."

"He'll be gone in a minute!" warned Johnny.

It was Bobby's turn to shoot. He raised his weapon, aimed carefully, and
pressed the trigger.

Immediately the thicket broke into a tremendous commotion. A scurrying
of leaves, a brief exclamation of pain, a brown cap whirling through the
air--and both boys turned and ran, ran as hard as they could up the hill
until sheer lack of breath brought them to the ground. They stared at
each other with frightened eyes from faces chalky white.

"We've killed somebody!" gasped Johnny.

They clung to each other trembling with the horror of it, utterly unable
to gather their faculties. This was just