“Look out that you don’t shoot either of us,” said Philip. “I am not after such game as that,” said Harry. He took the gun, and began to look attentively in different directions, lest any chance should escape him. At length he espied a partridge. He raised his gun quickly, took instant but accurate aim, and fired. The bird was seen to flutter an instant and then fall. “You’ve got him!” exclaimed Congreve, excitedly. Harry ran in the direction of the bird’s fall, and returned, flushed with success. Philip’s envy was aroused, inasmuch as a partridge was a more valuable prize than a crow. “You were lucky,” he said, with his usual sneer. “It was fortunate for you that the bird got in the way.” “Rather unfortunate for the partridge, though!” said Harry, coolly. “It wouldn’t happen once in fifty times,” continued Philip. “This isn’t the first partridge I’ve shot,” answered Harry, quietly. “Oh, I don’t doubt you’re a first-class gunner.” “I have great doubts on that subject myself,” said Harry. “You’ve both of you succeeded, while I shall have to go home empty-handed,” said Congreve, who had no particular ambition to shine as a sportsman. “You’ll have a chance soon to try again,” said Harry. By this time they had penetrated a considerable distance into the wood, and Philip grew impatient to carry out the plan which, from the first, they had had in view. “Isn’t it about time?” he asked, significantly. “Just as you say,” replied Congreve, indifferently. As he spoke he drew from his pocket a ball of strong cord, and both boys—if Congreve can be called one—looked significantly at our hero. “What’s coming?” thought Harry, perplexed. He found out soon enough. CHAPTER XIV — WHAT HAPPENED TO HARRY IN THE WOOD “I have a little matter of business with you, Gilbert,” said Congreve. “Business!” repeated Harry, looking from James Congreve, with his cool, deliberate manner, to the face of his companion, who was openly exultant. “I don’t understand you.” “You’ll understand better in five minutes,” said Philip. “I hope so, for I am quite in the dark now.” “The fact is, Gilbert,” commenced Congreve, in the cool, deliberate tone habitual to him—for he seldom allowed himself to get excited—“my friend Philip, here, feels that you have treated him badly——” “Outrageously!” interrupted Philip. “Very well; let us say outrageously.” “In what way have I treated him outrageously?” demanded Harry, undauntedly. “Plenty of times,” answered Philip, excitedly. “Didn’t you attack me in the berry pasture?” “Yes, and you know why. You were abusing two young children.” “It was none of your business,” said Philip, shortly. “It will always be my business,” said Harry, boldly, “when I see a large bully abusing two unoffending children.” “Quite a modern Don Quixote, upon my word,” said Congreve, but not in the sneering tone Philip was accustomed to adopt. He never sneered, and never showed excitement, but he was none the less dangerous on that account.