ng the
mountains.

"Here he is, sir!" Roderick cried, with a quick little chuckle; and the
words sent a thrill through Lionel such as he had never experienced in
his life before. "No--he's quite dead," the keeper continued, seeing
that the younger man was making ready to raise his rifle again. "I was
thinking he was well hit--and no far aweh."

At the same moment Lionel had eagerly run forward. With what joy and
pride--with what a curious sense of elation--with what a disposition of
good-will towards all the world--he now beheld this splendid beast lying
in the deep peat-hag that had hitherto hidden it from view. The stag's
last effort had been to clear this gully; but it had only managed to
strike the opposite bank with its forefeet when the death-wound did its
work, and then the hapless animal had rolled back with its final groan
into the position in which they now found it. In a second, Roderick was
down in the peat-hag beside it, holding up its head by one of the horns,
and examining the bulletmark.

"Well, sir," said he, with a humorous smile that did not often lighten
up his visage, "if this is what you will be calling the missing of a
stag, it is a ferry good way to miss it; for I never sah a better shot
in my life."

"It's a fluke, then, Roderick; I declare to you I was certain I had
missed," said he--though he hardly knew what he was saying; a kind of
bewilderment of joy possessed him--he could not keep his eyes off the
dead stag--and now, if he had only chanced to notice it, his hand was
certainly trembling. Probably Roderick did not know what a fluke was; in
any case his response was:

"Well, sir, I'm chist going to drink your good health; ay, and more good
luck to you, sir; and it's ferry glad I am that you hef got your first
stag!" and therewith he pulled out his small zinc flask.

"Oh, but you mustn't draw on your own supplies!" Lionel exclaimed, in
the fulness of his pride and gratitude. "See, here is a flask filled
with famous stuff. You take it--you and Alec; I don't want any more
to-day."

"Do not be so sure of that," the keeper said, shrewdly, and he modestly
declined to take Percy Lestrange's decorated flask. "It's a long walk
from home we are; far longer than you think; and mebbe there will be
some showers before we get back home."

"I don't care if there's thunder and lightning all the way!" Lionel
cried, gayly. "But I'll tell you what, Roderick, I wish you'd lend me
your pipe. Have you