This was their last beat before lunch, which was now to be seen approaching down a lane in a donkey cart convoyed by Ida and the Squire.  The latter was advancing in stages of about ten paces, and at every stage he stopped to utter a most fearful roar by way of warning all and sundry that they were not to shoot in his direction.  Edward gave his gun to his bearer and at once walked off to join them, but the Colonel went with George to look after two running cocks which he had down, for he was an old-fashioned sportsman, and hated not picking up his game.  After some difficulty they found one of the cocks in the hedgerow, but the other they could not find, so reluctantly they gave up the search.  When they got to the lane they found the luncheon ready, while one of the beaters was laying out the game for the Squire to inspect.  There were fourteen pheasants, four brace and a half of partridges, a hare, three rabbits, and a woodcock.

“Hullo,” said the Squire, “who shot the woodcock?”

“Well, sir,” said George, “we all had a pull at him, but the Colonel wiped our eyes.”

“Oh, Mr. Cossey,” said Ida, in affected surprise, “why, I thought you never missed anything.”

“Everybody misses sometimes,” answered that gentleman, looking uncommonly sulky.  “I shall do better this afternoon when it comes to the driven partridges.”

“I don’t believe you will,” went on Ida, laughing maliciously.  “I bet you a pair of gloves that Colonel Quaritch will shoot more driven partridges than you do.”

“Done,” said Edward Cossey sharply.

“Now, do you hear that, Colonel Quaritch?” went on Ida.  “I have bet Mr. Cossey a pair of gloves that you will kill more partridges this afternoon than he will, so I hope you won’t make me lose them.”

“Goodness gracious,” said the Colonel, in much alarm.  “Why, the last partridge-driving that I had was on the slopes of some mountains in Afghanistan.  I daresay that I shan’t hit anything.  Besides,” he said with some irritation, “I don’t like being set up to shoot against people.”

“Oh, of course,” said Edward loftily, “if Colonel Quaritch does not like to take it up there’s an end of it.”

“Well,” said the Colonel, “if you put it in that way I don’t mind trying, but I have only one gun and you have two.”

“Oh, that will be all right,” said Ida to the Colonel.  “You shall have George’s gun; he never tries to shoot when they drive partridges, because he cannot hit them.  He goes with the beaters.  It is a very good gun.”

The Colonel took up the gun and examined it.  It was of about the same bend and length as his own, but of a better quality, having once been the property of James de la Molle.

“Yes,” he said, “but then I haven’t got a loader.”

“Never mind.  I’ll do that, I know all about it.  I often used to hold my brother’s second gun when we drove partridges, because he said I was so much quicker than the men.  Look,” and she took the gun and rested one knee on the turf; “first position, second position, third position.  We used to have regular drills at it,” and she sighed.