It was a rather sleepy afternoon. Far away I could hear the sound of the advancing beaters--the cries of the boys, the occasional barking of a dog, and the shrill piping of the headkeeper's whistle. Suddenly three birds swung into view round the face of the hill, and made straight for the line of butts. They were just below me, nearer to Standish's butt than mine, but I put up my gun and picked off the nearest. The other two, instead of keeping on their course over Standish's head, suddenly swerved round to the left, almost at right angles--I think they had seen Miss Buncle's tam o' shanter and simultaneously decided that there are worse things than death--and flew straight down the line, followed by an ineffectual volley from the twelve and twenty-eight bores respectively. "Now, Dermott, my boy!" I ejaculated, as the birds skimmed past the third butt. "There's a chance for a really pretty right and left." But no sound--no movement even--came from our crack's lair. The birds flew by unharmed, only to fall later on, one to the Admiral, and one to young Gilmerton. "_Dormitat Homerus_," I murmured, gazing curiously towards Dermott's butt. "I wonder if--Jove, there they go! What a pack! Well done, Gerald! Oh, Gilmerton, you old _sweep_! Fire, man, _fire_! Good old Admiral! Dermott, man, what the devil---- Have _at_ them!" I fairly danced in the heather. A perfect cloud of birds was pouring over the lower part of the line. The Admiral, the Gilmertons, and Gerald were firing fast and furiously,--even the laird of Nethercraigs loosed off at birds that were neither running nor sitting,--and when the beaters appeared in sight five minutes later, and the drive came to an end, the four lower butts totalled twelve brace among them. I humbly proffered my solitary contribution. "Twelve and a half," said the Admiral. "Now, Standish?" "N.E. this time," remarked that youth philosophically. The Admiral said nothing, but I saw his choleric blue eyes slide round in the direction of Miss Buncle's headgear. He turned to Dermott. "How many, old man?" "Blob!" That Dermott should return empty-handed from any kind of chase was so surprising that we all turned round for the explanation. Dermott was looking very dejected. This was evidently a blow to his professional pride. "Didn't any of that great pack come near you?" asked the Admiral sympathetically. "No--don't think so," said Dermott shortly. I had counted eight birds flying straight over his butt myself, but I said nothing. I was beginning to comprehend. _Et ego in Arcadia vixi_. But the obtuse master-mariner persisted. "How about that brace that flew right down the line? You must have seen 'em coming all the way. You didn't even try a shot at them, man!" Dermott, who was fastening up his gaiter, answered rather listlessly-- "Sorry! It was--a misfire, I think." "What?" cried the outraged Admiral. "A _misfire_? Both barrels--of both guns?"