Fancy that two-year-old pig clattering his tusks at me, planted there in the path with his mane on end!--You know it mortifies me, Kathleen--it certainly does.

One of these fine days some facetious pig will send me shinning up a tree!" He grew madder at the speculative indignity.

"By ginger! I'm going to have a shooting party before the snow flies," he muttered, walking forward between Kathleen and his sister.

"Keep your eyes out ahead; we may jump another at any time, as the wind is all right.

And if we do, let him have it, Geraldine!" It was a beautiful woodland through which they moved.
The late autumn foliage was unusually magnificent, lacking, this year, those garish and discordant hues which Americans think it necessary to admire.