He made no reply, however, but waved a hand downhill, and in his heart said: "Well, maybe he's right.

I'm a damned dangerous fellow, there's no doubt about that.

Perhaps I'll kill a rebel some day, and then they'll take me to the sessions and the assizes.

Well, well, there's many a worse fate than that, so there is." After a minute he added: "So there is, dear lad, so there is.

But if I ever kill, I'd like it to be in open fight on the hills like this--like this, under the bright sun, in the soft morning, with all the moor and valleys still, and the larks singing--the larks singing! Hooray, but it's a fine day, one of the best that ever was!" He laughed, and patted his gun gently.
"Not a feather, not a bird killed, not a shot fired; but the looking was the thing--stalking the things that never turned up, the white heels we never saw, for I'm not killing larks, God love you!" He raised his head, looking up into the sky at some larks singing above him in the heavens.
"Lord love you, little dears," he added aloud.