"I killed that, father."

This made the Red-faced Man very angry.

"You young scoundrel," he said, "how often have I told you not to shoot
at my birds under my nose? No sportsman shoots at another man's birds,
and as for killing it, you were yards under the thing. If you do it
again I will send you home."

"Sorry, father," said Tom, adding in a low voice with a snigger, "I
did kill it after all. Dad thinks no one can hit a partridge except
himself."

Just then up jumped my father near to Giles, and came leaping in front
of the Red-faced Man about twenty yards away from him.

"Mark hare!" shouted Giles, and Grampus, who was still glowering at Tom
and had not quite finished pushing the cartridges into his gun, shut
it up in a hurry and fired first one barrel and then the other. But my
father, who was very cunning, jumped into the air at the first shot and
ducked at the second, so that he was missed; at least I suppose that is
why he was missed.

Giles grinned and the Red-faced Man said, "Damn!" What does 'damn' mean,
Mahatma? It was a very favourite word with the Red-faced Man, but even
now I can't quite understand it."

"Nor can I," I answered. "Go on."

"Well, my poor father next ran in front of Tom, who shot too and hit him