Norah was dependent on her aunt’s good graces for many little things that made life worth living, and she was conscious of a feeling of discomfiture because the Russian youth whom she had brought down as a welcome element of change in the country-house routine was not making a good impression. That young gentleman, however, was supremely unconscious of any shortcomings, and burst into the hall, tired, and less sprucely groomed than usual, but distinctly radiant. His game-bag looked comfortably full. “Guess what I have shot,” he demanded. “Pheasants, woodpigeons, rabbits,” hazarded Norah. “No; a large beast; I don’t know what you call it in English. Brown, with a darkish tail.” Norah changed colour. “Does it live in a tree and eat nuts?” she asked, hoping that the use of the adjective “large” might be an exaggeration. Vladimir laughed. “Oh no; not a _biyelka_.” “Does it swim and eat fish?” asked Norah, with a fervent prayer in her heart that it might turn out to be an otter. “No,” said Vladimir, busy with the straps of his game-bag; “it lives in the woods, and eats rabbits and chickens.” Norah sat down suddenly, and hid her face in her hands. “Merciful Heaven!” she wailed; “he’s shot a fox!” Vladimir looked up at her in consternation. In a torrent of agitated words she tried to explain the horror of the situation. The boy understood nothing, but was thoroughly alarmed. “Hide it, hide it!” said Norah frantically, pointing to the still unopened bag. “My aunt and the Major will be here in a moment. Throw it on the top of that chest; they won’t see it there.” Vladimir swung the bag with fair aim; but the strap caught in its flight on the outstanding point of an antler fixed in the wall, and the bag, with its terrible burden, remained suspended just above the alcove where tea would presently be laid. At that moment Mrs. Hoopington and the Major entered the hall. “The Major is going to draw our covers to-morrow,” announced the lady, with a certain heavy satisfaction. “Smithers is confident that we’ll be able to show him some sport; he swears he’s seen a fox in the nut copse three times this week.” “I’m sure I hope so; I hope so,” said the Major moodily. “I must break this sequence of blank days. One hears so often that a fox has settled down as a tenant for life in certain covers, and then when you go to turn him out there isn’t a trace of him. I’m certain a fox was shot or trapped in Lady Widden’s woods the very day before we drew them.” “Major, if any one tried that game on in my woods they’d get short shrift,” said Mrs. Hoopington.