I was
vigilantly watching him.
. . . . "And now
She spoke through the still weather."
"Are you afraid to speak to him?" asked Polly.
Not exactly,
. . . ."she spoke as when
The stars sang in their spheres.
"Stung by this inquiry, I leaned out of the window till
"The bar I leaned on (was) warm,"
and cried,--
"Halloo, there! What are you doing?"
"Look out he don't shoot you," called out Polly from the other
window, suddenly going on another tack.
I explained that a sportsman would not be likely to shoot a gentleman
in his own house, with bird-shot, so long as quails were to be had.
"You have no business here: what are you after?" I repeated.
"Looking for a lost hen," said the man as he strode away.
The reply was so satisfactory and conclusive that I shut the blinds
and went to bed.
But one evening I overhauled one of the poachers. Hearing his dog in
the thicket, I rushed through the brush, and came in sight of the
hunter as he was retreating down the road. He came to a halt; and we
had some conversation in a high key. Of course I threatened to
prosecute him. I believe that is the thing to do in such cases; but
how I was to do it, when I did not know his name or ancestry, and
couldn't see his face, never occurred to me.
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