d according to
her years with the figures 23, and headed with the unconvincing chapter
title, "Love."

CHAPTER V A WINNING LOSER

The week passed swiftly, day after day echoing with the steady fusillade
from marsh to covert, from valley to ridge. Guns flashed at dawn and
dusk along the flat tidal reaches haunted of black mallard and teal; the
smokeless powder cracked through alder swamp and tangled windfall where
the brown grouse burst away into noisy blundering flight; where the
woodcock, wilder now, shrilled skyward like feathered rockets, and the
big northern hares, not yet flecked with snowy patches of fur, loped off
into swamps to the sad undoing of several of the younger setters.

There was a pheasant drive at Black Fells to which the Ferralls'
guests were bidden by Beverly Plank--a curious scene, where ladies and
gentlemen stood on a lawn, backed by an army of loaders and gun-bearers,
while another improvised army of beaters drove some thousands of
frightened, bewildered, homeless foreign pheasants at the guns. And
the miserable aliens that escaped the guns were left to perish in the
desolation of a coming winter which they were unfitted to withstand.

So the first week of the season sped gaily, ending on Saturday with a
heavy flight of northern woodcock and an uproarious fusillade among the
silver birches.

Once Ferrall loaded two motor cars with pioneers for a day beyond his
own boundaries; and one day was spent ingloriously with the beagles; but
otherwise the Shotover estate proved more than sufficient for good bags
or target practice, as the skill of the sportsmen developed.

Lord Alderdene, good enough on snipe and cock, was driven almost frantic
by the ruffed grouse; Voucher did better for a day or two, and then lost
the knack; Marion Page attended to business in her cool and thorough
style, and her average on the gun-room books was excellent, and was also
adorned with clever pen-and-ink sketches by Siward.

Leroy Mortimer had given up shooting and established himself as a
haunter of cushions in sunny corners. Tom O'Hara had gone back to Lenox;
Mrs. Vendenning to Hot Springs. Beverly Plank, master of Black Fells,
began to pervade the house after a tentative appearance; and he and
Major Belwether pottered about the coverts, usually after luncheon--the
latter doing little damage with his fowling-piece, and nobody knew
how much with his gossiping tongue. Quarrier appeared in the field
methodically,