their flight directly over the village, and hundreds of thousands in
their rear followed the example, deserting the eastern side of the
plain to their persecutors and the slain.

“Victory!” shouted Richard, “victory! we have driven the enemy from
the field.”

“Not so, Dickon,” said Marmaduke; “the field is covered with them;
and, like the Leather-Stocking, I see nothing but eyes, in every
direction, as the innocent sufferers turn their heads in terror. Full
one-half of those that have fallen are yet alive; and I think it is
time to end the sport, if sport it be.”

“Sport!” cried the sheriff; “it is princely sport! There are some
thousands of the blue-coated boys on the ground, so that every old
woman in the village may have a pot-pie for the asking.”

“Well, we have happily frightened the birds from this side of the
valley,” said Marmaduke, “and the carnage must of necessity end for
the present. Boys, I will give you sixpence a hundred for the
pigeons’ heads only; so go to work, and bring them into the village.”

This expedient produced the desired effect, for every urchin on the
ground went industriously to work to wring the necks of the wounded
birds. Judge Temple retired toward his dwelling with that kind of
feeling that many a man has experienced before him, who discovers,
after the excitement of the moment has passed, that he has purchased
pleasure at the price of misery to others. Horses were loaded with
the dead; and, after this first burst of sporting, the shooting of
pigeons became a business, with a few idlers, for the remainder of the