Who does not recall the joyous thrill that comes with the preparation for a hunt—the powder-horns and shot pouches scattered here and there—the cleaning of guns, the glances at the sky to determine whether wind and weather are propitious, the barking of the dogs as their eyes gleam in anticipation of the day's sport.

Major LeCroix critically examined Dr. Hissong's gun: "Too much choke in the barrel for quail. Shawn, don't you load that rusty piece of yours too heavily." Reaching above the doorway, he brought down his muzzle-loading gun, with its silver mounted hammers and lock shields, and as he caressingly drew his coat-sleeve along the barrels, he said, "They don't know how to make them like this nowadays."

They went forth into the frosty, bracing air. They walked leisurely along the bank of the little creek, where a crust of ice fringed the shore. "Major," said Horton, "de las' time I see dat big flock uv birds, wuz in de stubble de uther side de orchid." The Major worked the dogs toward the stubble-field. Sam, the old English setter, began to trail, halting occasionally to sniff the breeze.

"I think we will locate them in the sorghum patch," said the Major. Sam was creeping cautiously through the sage grass just above the sorghum field. Presently he came up erect and rigid, Bess, the trim little Irish setter, behind him at back-stand. "Steady, there! Ho, steady! Can you beat that, doctor?" cried the Major. "Get to the lower side of them, Shawn, so we can drive them to the orchard—flush, Sam!" The old setter sprang forward and the birds arose from the ground with an exciting flutter. The guns roared and two birds fell. Doctor Hissong was reloading, ramming the charge home with a long hickory ramrod. With trembling hand, Major LeCroix drew the cork from his powder-horn, and endeavored to pour the powder into the barrel.

"Let me load for you," said Shawn.

"No, indeed, I'm not too old to load my gun." He stood for a moment looking at the shot-pouch. "Here, boy, maybe you had better load for me." A tinge of sadness crept over his features, but gave way to an expression of joy when Shawn said, "You and the doctor got your birds that time, I missed." Horton gave Shawn a grateful glance. They got into the scattered birds, the Major and Doctor Hissong thoroughly enjoying the sport. As each bird came from cover, Shawn held his fire, and followed closely after the shots of doctor Hissong and Major LeCroix, and as each bird fell, he would shout, "Good shot, Major!" or "Good shot, doctor!" They got into the lower bottoms, and by noon Horton showed a fine bag of game. Shawn modestly refused to claim but a few of the birds, but Horton knew of his unerring marksmanship, and wondered at his unselfishness. Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were in jubilant spirits as they turned homeward. Old Sam, the setter, limped painfully behind the doctor.

"What crippled Sam?" asked the Major.

"I loaned him to a young fellow from Ohio last winter," said the doctor, "I reckon about the greenest young man that ever went into the field. He told Brad that he didn't know when nor how to shoot at the birds, and the old black rascal said, 'Jes' shoot whar de dawg sets,' and unfortunately Sam got tired and sat down, and got a load of bird-shot in his hind-legs."

As they put their guns away that afternoon, Major LeCroix again examined Shawn's cheap gun. Then came the supper of broiled birds, cooked as only Mary could cook them, and at the table-board they went over the field again, the work of the dogs, the Major meanwhile waxing eloquent over the trueness of his gun.

Shawn lay again in the old Empire bed, watching the dying embers in the fireplace. Softly the door opened—the Major entered, a lighted candle in one hand, and his beloved muzzle-loader in the other. "Shawn, I have been thinking it all over; I will hunt no more, but there are many days for you in the field, but you must have a gun, and I am giving you mine." He paused at the door, held the candle aloft, the soft light falling on his silvery hair, "Good night and pleasant dreams."

And the night was filled with pleasant dreams for Shawn, for that afternoon as he and Lallite stood upon the porch, gazing upon the wintry stream, she drew near him and said, "It will be so lonesome tomorrow when you are gone," and something in the tone of the voice echoed the same words in his heart.