ray of sunshine in her right hand; and that's as magic-working
a wand as any fairy ever wielded — hey, Mr. Carleton?"

Mr. Carleton bowed. But whether the sunshine of affection in
Fleda's glance and smile at her grandfather, made him feel
that she was above a compliment, or whether it put the words
out of his head, certain it is that he uttered none.

"So you've had bad success to-day," continued Mr. Ringgan,
"Where have you been? and what after? partridges?"

"No, Sir," said Mr. Carleton, "my friend Rossitur promised me
a rare bag of woodcock, which I understand to be the best of
American feathered game; and, in pursuance of his promise, led
me over a large extent of meadow and swamp land, this morning,
with which, in the course of several hours, I became extremely
familiar, without flushing a single bird."

"Meadow and swamp land!" said the old gentleman.
"Whereabouts?"

"A mile or more beyond the little village over here, where we
left our horses," said Rossitur. "We beat the ground well, but
there were no signs of them even."

"We had not the right kind of dog," said Mr. Carleton.

"We had the kind that is always used here," said Rossitur;
"nobody knows anything about a Cocker in America."