If the unfortunate Millar hoped to console himself for his own failure by witnessing a similar _mis_hap on the part of the young tutor, he was once more doomed to be disappointed; for scarcely had Lewis taken possession of the gun when a splendid cock-pheasant rose within distance, though farther off than either of the shots the keeper had just missed, and, ere its gaudy plumage had well caught the rays of the sun above the tops of the young plantation, fell to the ground, quivering in the agonies of death. As the smoke from the discharge cleared away, a snipe, scared alike by the report of the gun and the approach of the beater, sprang from a thick clump of alder bushes and darted away, uttering its peculiar cry. “No use--hit’s clean out o’ shot,” exclaimed Millar, as Lewis, swift as thought, again raised the gun to his shoulder. Slightly piqued by the keeper’s contemptuous manner, he determined not to throw away a chance of vindicating his skill as a marksman, and though he felt by no means sure of success, on the “nothing venture nothing have” principle, the instant he got a clear sight of the bird he blazed away at it. Great then was his delight to perceive the snipe suddenly tower upwards and then drop to the ground, as if struck by lightning. “Vel, if that hain’t a clever shot!” ejaculated Millar, surprised into admiration in spite of himself; “bless’d if yer ’aven’t tuk the shine hout of me properly. I thort yer vos a reg’lar green un, but I’m free to confess I couldn’t ’ave killed that ere bird at that distance ther best o’ times.” “Nor have I, it seems,” exclaimed Lewis, as the snipe, which was only wounded, rose, flew a short distance, and dropped again. “Hit’s dead this time. I’ll bet a quart,” observed Millar; “hit’ll never git hup no more, hif ve can honly find it.” “I think I can,” said Lewis; “I marked the exact spot where it fell. Walter, do you stay with Millar till I come back. I should not like to lose it.”