Having partaken of a typical country dinner, the small number of
courses being amply compensated by their quantity, I lighted my pipe
and went down to the bar-parlor, being minded to learn something of
the neighborhood at first hand from any chance visitor who might serve
my purpose.

The landlord, a somewhat taciturn member of his class, sat behind the
bar, pipe in mouth, as I entered, and only one other man was in the
room. This was a gipsy-looking fellow, with a very wild eye, attired
in the manner of a game-keeper, and wearing leggings and a fur cap. A
sporting rifle stood in the corner beside him. The landlord nodded,
and the other gave me a "Good evening" as I entered, whereupon I
determined to try the game-keeper as the more likely source of
information, and:

"Is the shooting good hereabouts?" I asked, by way of opening a
conversation.

My inquiry seemed hugely to amuse the man.

"None better," was the reply; "it's thick with game, sir, it is for
sure--and nobody to profit, only"--he winked at the landlord--"young
Jim Corder!"

The landlord emitted a deep grunt which was evidently recognized by
the other as a laugh; for he himself laughed in a wild and not wholly
pleasant manner, whereby I concluded that "young Jim Corder" was a
standing joke in the neighborhood.

"You look as though you knew a hare from a partridge," said I, "so