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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.

Don was carried to the nearest ditch, and the entire crowd devoted itself to doctoring his ear. It was decided that he should be taken to the quarters and kept out of sight during the Christmas, in the hope that his ear would heal. We all agreed not to say anything about it if not questioned. Uncle Limpy-Jack had to be bribed into silence by a liberal present of shot and powder from us. But he finally consented. However, when Met, in a wild endeavor to get a shot at a stray partridge which got up before us, missed the bird and let Uncle Limpy-Jack, at fifty yards, have number-six pellets in the neck and shoulder, Peter’s delinquency was forgotten. The old man dropped his gun and yelled, “Oh! Oh!” at the top of his voice. “Oh! I ‘m dead, I ‘m dead, I ‘m dead.” He lay down on the ground and rolled.

Met was scared to death and we were all seriously frightened. Limpy-Jack himself may have thought he was really killed. He certainly made us think so. He would not let anyone look at the wound.

Only a few of the shot had gone in, and he was not seriously injured, but he vowed that it was all done on purpose, and that he was “going straight home and tell Marster,” a threat he was only prevented from executing by us all promising him the gold dollars which we should find in the toes of our stockings next morning.

III

So far the day had been rather a failure; the misfortunes had exceeded the sport; but as we reached the long hillside I have spoken of, the fun began. The hares were sunning themselves comfortably in their beds, and we had not gone more than two hundred yards before we had three up, and cutting straight down the hill before us.

Bang!–bang!–bang!–bang! went the guns. One hare was knocked over, and one boy also by the kick of his gun; the others were a sight chase, and every boy, man, and dog joined in it for dear life.

“Whoop!–whoop! Dyah she go! Dyah she go! Heah, heah! Heah, heah! Heah, heah, heah! Whoop, Rattler! Whoop, Nimrod! Heah, Snip! heah, heah, Bruno! Heah, heah!” Everyone was striving to get ahead.

Both hares were picked up before reaching cover, one being caught by Bruno, who was magnificent in a chase. After many falls and failures by all of us, Saul flung himself on the other, and gave a wild yell of triumph.

The “long hillside” was full of hares; they bounced out of the hen-grass; slipped from brush-heaps and were run down, or by their speed and agility escaped us all. The dogs got the frenzy and chased wildly, sometimes running over them and losing them through a clever double and dash. The old field rang with the chase until we turned our steps toward home to get ready for the fun after dark.

We were crossing the pasture on our way home. The winter sunset sky was glowing like burnished steel; the tops of the great clump of oaks and hickories in which the house stood were all that we could see over the far hill; a thin line of bluish smoke went straight up in the quiet air. The dogs had gone on ahead, even the two or three old watch-dogs ran after the others, with their noses in air.