"Because I see no reason for depriving you of the pleasure of doing the handsome thing when I have the misfortune of leaving you." "The dickens! One would take you for a wit!" "I've wit enough to look like a fool when I want to." "Well done! Where do you come from?" "From Sachsenhausen." "And where may that be?" "It is a suburb of Frankfort." "Ah! yes, it is a Saxon colony from the days of Charlemagne." "That is so. So you know that, do you?" "I also know that you are a fine race, something like the Auvergnats of France. We will settle up when we part." "That's suits me down to the ground." "What's your name? "Lenhart." "Very well, Lenhart, let us get on then." The carriage started, scattering the usual crowd of idle spectators. A few minutes brought it to the end of the street leading to the open country. The day was magnificent. The trees had just burst into leaf, and earth had assumed a mantle of green, the soft spring breeze seemed laden with the perfume of flowers. Overhead the birds were already seeking food for their little ones, and awakening Nature appeared to listen to their songs. From time to time a lark arose from among the corn, and ascending high in the air seemed as if floating above the summit of a pyramid of song. Beholding this magnificent country the traveller exclaimed: "But there must be splendid shooting here, is there not?" "Yes, but it is strictly preserved," replied the coachman. "So much the better," said our friend, "there will be all the more game." In fact, before they had gone quite a mile from the town, Frisk, who had given various signs of impatience, sprang out of the carriage, rushed into a field of clover, and pointed. "Shall I go on or wait," enquired the driver, seeing the young man loading his gun. "Go on a yard, or two," was the answer. "There, that will do; now, draw up as near to the field as you can." The carriage, with the sportsman standing up in it, gun in hand, halted within thirty yards of the dog. The driver looked on with all the interest of his class, an interest which is always on the side of the sportsman and hostile to the landlord and the gamekeeper. "That is a clever dog," he remarked. "What is he pointing at?" "It is a hare." "How do you know?" "Had it been a bird he would have wagged his tail. See." A big leveret showed itself among the clover and fell a victim to the gun. It was promptly brought in by Frisk. Further on a covey of partridges was seen, but the dog was called off, and the young brood left in peace. They were already approaching Hanover when a startled hare was seen some sixty yards from the carriage. "Ah!" said Lenhart, "this one wisely keeps his distance." "It does not follow," replied the sportsman. "You don't expect to hit at that distance, do you?" "Have you still to learn, my friend, you who profess to be able to shoot, that to a good shot and a good gun distance is of small importance? Now, watch!"