CHAPTER VII.

When the summer was nearly over, several of the children’s fathers and mothers came to stay at my mistress’s house, and the next day it was arranged that the gentlemen were to go out partridge shooting. Two of the bigger boys, who were thirteen or fourteen, and whose names were Teddy and Dick, were to be allowed to go shooting with their fathers for the first time, and a gentleman of the neighborhood, with his son Norman, who was nearly fifteen, was also to join the party.

The next morning Teddy and Dick were up before anybody else, and marched proudly about with their guns in their hands, and their game-bags slung across their shoulders, talking of all the game they were going to bring home.

“I say, Teddy,” said Dick, “when our game-bags are quite full, where shall we put the rest of the game we shall shoot?”

45
The Gentlemen and Boys formed a Broad Line across the Field
"The Gentlemen and Boys formed a Broad Line across the Field” P. 46.

46

“That’s just what I was wondering,” said Teddy. “I know, we’ll put Neddy’s panniers on, and take him with us.”

I didn’t like this at all, because I knew these young sportsmen would fire at everything they saw and would be quite as likely to shoot me as they would a partridge. But there was no help for it, and so when the party assembled at the front door, I was there too, harnessed and ready.

“Bless me!” said Norman’s father, when, after a mile or two, he joined us with his son, “what’s that donkey for?”

“That’s to fetch home the young gentlemen’s game, sir,” said the keeper, touching his hat, with a grin.

The partridges rose in great numbers. I stayed prudently at the rear. The gentlemen and the boys formed a broad line across the field; shots resounded all along the line; the dogs pricked up their ears, watched to see where the game fell, and fetched it in. I kept an eye on those young boasters; I saw them shoot, and shoot, and shoot again, but they never hit anything, not even when the three of them aimed at the same partridge at once, for it only flew all the better. At the end of two hours the gentlemen’s game-bags were full, and those of the boys still empty.

“Dear me!” said one of the gentlemen, as they47 passed me on the way to a neighboring farmhouse, where they had left their dinner; “are the panniers still empty? Ah, I suppose you have stuffed all your game into your game-bags. My dear boys, if you fill them so full, they’ll burst!” and the gentleman looked at the other sportsmen and laughed.

Dick, Teddy, and Norman got very red, but they said nothing, and presently they were all seated round a capital basket of provisions under a tree,—a chicken-pie, ham, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, and cake. The boys were ravenously hungry, and ate enough to frighten the people who passed by.

“Well, boys,” said Norman’s father, “so you’ve not been very lucky. Neddy doesn’t walk as if he were over-burdened with the game you’ve shot.”

“No,” said Norman; “you see, father, we had no dogs to fetch in the partridges we shot. You had all the dogs.”

“Oh, you have shot some, have you? Why didn’t you go and fetch them in yourselves?”

“Well, father, we didn’t see them fall, and so we didn’t know where they were.”

At this all the gentlemen, and even the keepers, roared with laughter, and the boys reddened angrily.

“Well, then, boys,” said Teddy’s father, “we will stay here and rest for an hour, and you shall48 go with one of the keepers and all our dogs, and see if you have better luck this time in finding the partridges you shoot, but can’t see fall.”

“Oh, how jolly! Thanks, father. Come on, Dick; come on, Norman; now we shall have our bags as full as theirs.”

The gentlemen told the keeper to keep close to the boys, and not let them do anything rash. They started off with the dogs, and I followed some way behind, as usual. The partridges rose in numbers, as they did in the morning; the dogs were on the watch, but they brought in no game, because there was none to bring.

At last Norman grew impatient at having as yet shot nothing, and seeing one of the dogs stop and prick up her ears, he thought a partridge must be just going to rise, and that it would be much easier to shoot it while it was still on the ground than when it was flying. So he took aim and fired.

There was a yell of pain, the dog made a leap into the air, and then rolled over quite dead.

“You stupid fellow!” shouted the keeper, as he ran to the spot, “you’ve shot our very best dog! Here’s a pretty end of your fine sport!”

Norman stood speechless from fright. Dick and Teddy looked scared out of their wits. The keeper restrained his anger, and stood looking at the poor dog without saying another word.

49
A Sad Procession.
"A Sad Procession."

I went up to see who was the unfortunate victim of Norman’s stupid recklessness. Judge of my horror when I recognized my old friend Jenny! I had known Jenny as a puppy, when she lived at the dog fancier’s at the corner of the market to which I used to carry vegetables in bygone days. Poor old Jenny! she and I had50 been such friends! To think she should have come to this! That wretched, conceited boy!

We turned back towards the farm, a sad procession. The keeper put Jenny’s body into one of my panniers, and walked along by my side; the boys followed, with hanging heads and downcast looks.

The sportsmen were still sitting under the tree, and were surprised when they saw us coming. Seeing that something was wrong, and that one of my panniers was hanging heavily down, they got up and came quickly towards us. The boys hung back; the keeper went forward.

“What have they shot?” asked one of the gentlemen. “Is it a sheep or a calf?”

“It’s nothing to laugh at, sir,” replied the keeper; “it’s our very best dog, Jenny. That young gentleman shot her, thinking she was a partridge.”

“Jenny! Well! Catch me taking boys out shooting again!”

“Come here, Norman,” said his father. “Just see to what a pass your conceit has brought you! Say good-by to your friends, sir, and go straight home at once! You will put your gun in my room, and you will not lay a finger on it again till you have learned to have a more modest opinion of yourself!”

“But, father,” said Norman, trying to look as51 if he did not care, “everybody knows that all great sportsmen sometimes shoot their dogs by mistake!”

His father looked at him for a moment, and then, turning to the others with an air of disgust, he said:—

“Gentlemen, I really must apologize to you for having ventured to bring with me to-day a boy who has so little sense of decent behavior. I never imagined he was capable of such silly impertinence.” He then turned towards his son, and said severely:—

“You have heard my order, sir. Go at once!” Norman hung his head and departed in confusion.

“You see, boys,” said Teddy’s father, “what comes of conceit, of thinking you are so much more clever than you really are. This might have happened to either of you. You were so very sure that nothing was easier than shooting, and this is the result. It is quite clear that you are too young to be allowed to go shooting, so you can go back to your gardens and your childish games, and it will be better for all concerned.”

Dick and Teddy hung their heads without a word. The party turned sadly homewards, and, after tea, the boys buried my poor friend in the garden.