"I know by the colour," said Fleda modestly,--"and by the shape too."

"Fairy," said Mr. Rossitur, "if you have any of the stuff about you, I
wish you would knock this gentleman over the head with your wand and put
the spirit of moving into him. He is going to sit dreaming here all day."

"Not at all," said his friend springing up.--"I am ready for you--but I
want other game than woodcock just now I confess."

They walked along in silence, and had near reached the extremity of the
table-land, which towards the end of the valley descended into ground of a
lower level covered with woods; when Mr. Carleton who was a little ahead
was startled by Fleda's voice exclaiming in a tone of distress, "Oh not
the robins!"--and turning about perceived Mr. Rossitur standing still with
levelled gun and just in the act to shoot. Fleda had stopped her ears. In
the same instant Mr. Carleton had thrown up the gun, demanding of Rossitur
with a singular change of expression--"what he meant!"

"Mean?" said the young gentleman, meeting with an astonished face the
indignant fire of his companion's eyes,--"why I mean not to meddle with
other people's guns, Mr. Carleton. What do _you_ mean?"

"Nothing but to protect myself."

"Protect yourself!" said Rossitur, heating as the other cooled,--from
what, in the name of wonder?"

"Only from having my word blown away by your fire," said Carleton,
smiling. "Come, Rossitur, recollect yourself--remember our compact."