"There," he breathed, "See him! He's sitting in that little scrub oak--just to the left of the stub." Bobby peered along his friend's arm. After a moment he made out a mottled spot of brown. "I see him," said he, cocking his rifle. "It's his breast. I wish I could get at his head." "He'll be gone in a minute!" warned Johnny. It was Bobby's turn to shoot. He raised his weapon, aimed carefully, and pressed the trigger. Immediately the thicket broke into a tremendous commotion. A scurrying of leaves, a brief exclamation of pain, a brown cap whirling through the air--and both boys turned and ran, ran as hard as they could up the hill until sheer lack of breath brought them to the ground. They stared at each other with frightened eyes from faces chalky white. "We've killed somebody!" gasped Johnny. They clung to each other trembling with the horror of it, utterly unable to gather their faculties. This was just what so often both had been cautioned against--the shooting without seeing clearly the object of aim. To the shock of a catastrophe they had to add the sinking remorse over warnings disobeyed. "What are we going to do?" chattered Johnny at last. "We got to go down and see----" "I daresn't" confessed Johnny miserably. "Do you suppose he's dead?" "They'll probably put us in jail." "Come on," said Bobby at last. They arose, very giddy and uncertain on their feet. For the first time they forced themselves to look at the copse lying below them. "Oh!" breathed Johnny, "Look!" Below them on the farther edge of the copse, and over a quarter of a mile away, they saw Mr. Kincaid. He was bareheaded. Curly was with him. The man was trying to send the water spaniel into the copse. Curly pretended that he wanted to play, and did not in the least understand what it was all about. He capered joyously around Mr. Kincaid's outstretched arm; he pressed his chest to the earth and uttered short barks; he chased madly around in circles, but he did not enter the copse, which was plainly his master's desire. Finally Mr. Kincaid gave it up and departed over the brow of the next hill. And while this little by-play was going on two small boys above him felt the warmth of life flowing back into their frozen souls. The blood returned to their lips, their thumping hearts calmed, all the blessed joy and sunshine and freedom of the world flooded in a return tide of blessed relief. "Gee," said Johnny, "I'm never going hunting again! Never any more! Never!" "You bet I'm going to be careful after this," said Bobby. "My, but I'm glad!" "I wonder why he didn't pick up his cap?" wondered Johnny. "Perhaps he had it in his hand." The boys drove home ringing the changes on a thousand new resolutions of caution. "It's a good lesson to us," said Bobby by way of reminiscent philosophy often heard before.