the time; yet no one suspected him of anything except irresponsibility.
His record was clean; Dublin Castle was not after him.

When his young friend made the remark about the sessions and assizes,
Calhoun was making his way up the rocky hillside to take the homeward
path to his father's place, Playmore. With the challenge and the
monstrous good-bye, a stone came flying up the hill after him and stopped
almost at his feet. He made no reply, however, but waved a hand
downhill, and in his heart said:

"Well, maybe he's right. I'm a damned dangerous fellow, there's no doubt
about that. Perhaps I'll kill a rebel some day, and then they'll take me
to the sessions and the assizes. Well, well, there's many a worse fate
than that, so there is."

After a minute he added:

"So there is, dear lad, so there is. But if I ever kill, I'd like it to
be in open fight on the hills like this--like this, under the bright sun,
in the soft morning, with all the moor and valleys still, and the larks
singing--the larks singing! Hooray, but it's a fine day, one of the best
that ever was!"

He laughed, and patted his gun gently.

"Not a feather, not a bird killed, not a shot fired; but the looking was
the thing--stalking the things that never turned up, the white heels we
never saw, for I'm not killing larks, God love you!"

He raised his head, looking up into the sky at some larks singing above