ut of my
head; but all's right, now. Hark! hark! don't you hear, boys? The quails
hasn't all got together yit--better luck! Hush, A--- and you'll hear
them callin'--whew-wheet! whew-wheet! whe-whe-whe;" and the old Turk
began to call most scientifically; and in ten minutes the birds were
answering him from all quarters, through the circular space of
Bog-meadow, and through the thorny brake beyond it, and some from a large
ragwort field further yet.

"How is this, Frank--did they scatter so much when they dropped?" asked
Harry.

"Yes; part of them 'lighted in the little bank on this edge, by the
spring, you know; and some, a dozen or so, right in the middle of the
bog, by the single hickory; and five or six went into the swamp, and a
few over it."

"That's it! that's it! and they've been running to try to get together,"
said the Commodore.

"But was too skeart to call, till we'd quit shootin'!" said Tom. "But
come, boys, let's be stirrin', else they'll git together like; they
keeps drawin', drawin', into one place now, I can hear."

No sooner said than done; we were all on foot in an instant, and ten
minutes brought us to the edge of the first thicket; and here was the
truth of Harry's precepts tested by practice in a moment; for they had
not yet entered the thin bushes, on which now the red leaves hung few
and sere, before old Shot threw his nose high into the air, straightened
his neck and his stern, and struck out at a high trot; the other setter
evidently knowing what he meant, though as yet he had not caught the
wind of them. In a moment they both stood steady; and, almost at the
same instant, Tom Draw's Dash, and A---'s Grouse come to the point, all
on different birds, in a bit of very open ground, covered with
wintergreen about knee deep, and interspersed with only a few scattered
bushes.

Whir-r-r-r--up they got all at once! what a jostle--what a hubbub! Bang!
bang! crack! bang! crack! bang! Four barrels exploded in an instant,
almost simultaneously; and two sharp unmeaning cracks announced that, by
some means or other, Frank Forester's gun had missed fire with both
barrels.

"What the deuce is the matter, boys" cried Harry, laughing, as he threw
up his gun, after the hubbub had subsided, and dropped two birds--the
only two that fell, for all that waste of shot and powder.

"What the deuce ails you?" he repeated, no one replying, and all hands
looking bashful and crest-fallen. "Are you all drunk? or wh