When he had reached a spot where a short stretch of road before him had a delightfully secluded appearance, by reason of the trees that overarched it, and the varied slopes that rose gently on either hand, those on the left extending in a series of shapely hills to a far western horizon, he began to think of breakfast. A little way ahead, a vine-grown wall, broken by high gate-posts, marked the roadside boundary of a small, sloping park, belonging to a country-seat whose towers and chimneys rose among the trees some distance within. As Dick lay down his bag to rest, there came from a small door in the wall a gamekeeper, who immediately raised the fowling-piece he carried, and fired at a hawk that circled over a copse at Dick's right. The shot missed, and the gamekeeper reloaded. But when he was ready for a second shot, he shouldered his gun, evidently thinking the bird out of range, although it remained over the copse. "I'll bring that bird down for you, if you let me," called out Dick, on the impulse of the moment, just as if he had been in his own country. In reply, the gamekeeper stared in amazement. Dick repeated his offer. Then the gamekeeper found words, and wrathfully ordered Dick from the premises, calling him a vagabond, a poacher, and worse. Dick was about to close the fellow's mouth with a blow, when a loud voice, one that shifted between a bellow and a whine, came from the direction of the great gate: "What's amiss, Perkins? Hold the damned rascal! I'll make a jailbird of him, that I will! What is it, Perkins? Highway robbery? I'll have him up, the next assizes!" By this time, the speaker, having got out of a coach just as it was being driven through the gate, had come up to where Dick and the gamekeeper stood. He was a large, pot-bellied man, with coarse features, red face, and bloodshot eyes; a man of about forty, showing in his movements a disability due to a dissolute life, and dressed with a richness that did not avail to soften the impression of grossness he produced. "The rascal had the impudence of offering to shoot that hawk, sir," said the gamekeeper, looking wroth at the outrage. "What hawk?" queried the threatening gentleman, looking, and presently sighting the only one in view. "That hawk? Odd's life! If the rogue can shoot that hawk at this distance, I'm his humble servant, that I am! And let him only speak, and the place of under-keeper shall be his, damn me twice over if it sha'n't! D'ye hear that, rascal?" Philosophically ignoring the last word, Dick replied, "If Mr. Perkins will hand me the gun, I'll show you how we shoot in" (he was going to say "America," but checked himself) "the county I came from." "Give him the gun, Perkins, give him the gun!" ordered the gentleman, eagerly, responding to anything that appealed to his love of shooting, and already preparing to jeer in case of Dick's failure.