"Ah, it was too wet," said Mr. Ringgan. "I could have told you
that. There has been too much rain. You wouldn't find a
woodcock in that swamp, after such a day as we had a few days
ago. But speaking of game, Mr. Rossitur, I don't know anything
in America equal to the grouse. It is far before woodcock. I
remember, many years back, going a grouse shooting, I and a
friend, down in Pennsylvania; we went two or three days
running, and the birds we got were worth a whole season of
woodcock. But, gentlemen, if you are not discouraged with your
day's experience, and want to try again, _I'll_ put you in a way
to get as many woodcock as will satisfy you — if you'll come
here to-morrow morning. I'll go out with you far enough to
show you the way to the best ground _I_ know for shooting that
game in all this country; you'll have a good chance for
partridges, too, in the course of the day; and that aint bad
eating, when you can't get better — is it, Fairy?" he said,
with a sudden smiling appeal to the little girl at his side.
Her answer again was only an intelligent glance.

The young sportsmen both thanked him and promised to take
advantage of his kind offer. Fleda seized the opportunity to
steal another look at the strangers; but meeting Mr.
Carleton's eyes fixed on her with a remarkably soft and gentle
expression, she withdrew her own again as fast as possible,
and came to the conclusion that the only safe place for them
was the floor.

"I wish I was a little younger, and I'd take my gun and go
along with you myself," said the old gentleman, pleasantly;
"but," he added, sighing, "there is a time for everything, and