"Ole Molly Hyah, You' ears mighty thin. Yes, yes, yes, I come a-t'ippin' thoo de win'!" So far the honors were all Uncle Jack's and Milker-Tim's, and it was necessary for the rest of us to do something. Accordingly, the bottom having been well hunted, the crowd struck out for an old field over the hill, known as "the long hillside." It was thick in hen-grass and broom-straw, and sloped down from a piece of pine with a southern exposure on which the sun shone warm. We had not reached it before a hare jumped out of a bush near Charlie. In a few moments, another bounced out before one of the dogs and went dashing across the field. Two shots followed her; but she kept on till at last one of the boys secured her. We were going down the slope when Peter called in great excitement, "Heah a ole hyah settin' in her haid. Come heah, Dan, quick! Gi' me your gun; le' me git him!" This was more than Dan bargained for, as he had not got one himself yet. He ran up quickly enough, but held on tightly to his gun. "Where is he? Show him to me: I 'll knock him over." As he would not give up the gun, Peter pointed out the game. "See him?" "No." "Right under dat bush--right dyah" (pointing). "See him? Teck keer dyah, Don, teck keer," he called, as Don came to a point just beyond. "See him?" He pointed a black finger with tremulous eagerness. No, Dan did not see, so he reluctantly yielded up the gun. Peter took aim long and laboriously, shut both eyes, pulled the trigger, and blazed away. There was a dash of white and brown, a yell, and Don wheeled around with his head between his forepaws stung by the shot as "molly" fled streaking it over the hill followed only by the dogs. Peter's face was a study. If he had killed one of us he could not have looked more like a criminal, nor have heard more abuse. Uncle Limpy-Jack poured out on him such a volume of vituperation and contempt that he was almost white, he was so ashy. Don was not permanently hurt; but one ear was pierced by several shot, which was a serious affair, as his beauty was one of his good points, and his presence on a hare-hunt was wholly against the rules. Uncle Limpy-Jack painted the terrors of the return home for Peter with a vividness so realistic that its painfulness pierced more breasts than Peter's.