"You might have cut down your milk-bills," remarked his companion. "For a Biblical precedent you have the case of the prophet who was fed by ravens. I presume they stole from his neighbours. Were their efforts confined purely to the milk-business?" "Hardly," replied Peter. "In one instance they brought home a boot." "Only one?" "Only one," declared Barcroft solemnly. "It was in an almost new condition. I made inquiries all over Alderdene but without success. No one had lost a boot. Quite a month later I discovered that a parson living at Barcroft, a village three miles away, had missed one of his boots, and sure enough the one Ponto and Nan brought in was the missing article. Apparently they had walked into the parson's scullery, and finding nothing in the edible line, had picked up the boot as a souvenir of the visit." "They showed a total lack of common sense," said von Eitelwurmer. "Now, if they had carried off the pair----" "I should have had to return two boots instead of one," added his companion. "But here we are. We'll work up against the wind and keep the dogs to heel." The sportsmen had gained the gently-sloping rise of Windyhill. It was the only side on which the ascent could be described as easy. The ground was grass-grown and interspersed with clusters of bushes, although the cover was by no means extensive. At the foot of the rise flowed a small brook, which was crossed by a single plank. Beyond a hedge somewhat of a rarity in the North--through which was a gap with a stile. From this point to the summit of the hill, a distance of nearly a mile, the only obstructions consisted of two rough stone walls running athwart the slope. "We'll load after we're over the stile," said the cautious Peter. "Be careful, there's quite a lot of snow under this hedge." Von Eitelwurmer's answer was to slip and measure his length in the soft snow. "Donner--dash it all!" he exclaimed, hastily checking the natural yet hitherto carefully avoided habit of forcibly expressing himself in the language that came easiest to the tip of his tongue-that of the Fatherland. "You're right, Barcroft. It is confoundedly slippery." Picking up his gun that had fallen from his grasp the spy followed Barcroft over the stile. Here the two men loaded and Peter called the dogs to heel. "Plenty of evidence that the bunnies are about," he remarked. "We'll keep twenty yards apart. I don't suppose we'll catch sight of a rabbit until we get to the bushes." Stealthily and in silence the sportsmen approached the nearmost patch of cover. Suddenly, a startled rabbit broke away and ran down wind. Up went Peter's gun, and the next instant bunny was kicking on the ground. "Why didn't you fire?" inquired Barcroft, as the two converged upon the spoil. "The animal was across your path." "Why didn't I?" repeated von Eitelwurmer. "I did. That was my shot. You didn't fire." "But I did," declared Peter.