yellow, crooked, and thick beak has no other capercailzie hereabout. Look how green he is on the breast, and how his feathers shine! And such a big heavy one!" exclaimed Peter, while he, with almost childish joy, was weighing the bird in his hand. "I don't think I am telling a lie when I say he weighs fifteen pounds. That was a shot! But the captain will be glad! Ho, ho, here we are!" he cried till it was re-echoed from all the hills around. The captain soon made his appearance, followed by the boy and the hounds.
The captain and the boy carried each a capercailzie.
Peter lifted our prize triumphantly aloft and shouted, while they yet were at some distance —
"It is the old rascal, captain!"
"What do you say?" cried the captain, and came running towards us. "Is it really the old one? Now, that is a decent days work, which deserves a glass. Long live all republics of birds! Perish all tyrants!" he exclaimed, as he took the bottle and silver goblet out of his bag and drank to us.
"Was it not as I said, the captain would be pleased?" said Peter with a grin, as he winked with his eyes and took a good sup of the goblet which was handed to him. "There will be different sport about here now, when we have got rid of this devil of a bird."
After having exchanged accounts about our sport, the hounds were let loose. They soon found scent, and away they went in full cry. The echo repeated their baying over and over again between the hills, and our hearts beat with rapture at this promising sound of fine sport in the early sunny morning.
