This I achieved, though by little, for my shot removed only half as much cloth as its predecessor.

But the performance amazed the onlookers.

"Ye've found a fair provost at the job, Barshalloch," one of them hiccupped.

"Better quit and pay for the mutchkin." My antagonist took every care with his last shot, and, just missing the cockade, hit the hat about the middle, cut the branch on which it rested, and brought it fluttering to the ground a pace or two farther on.

It lay there, dimly seen through a low branch of the cherry tree, with the cockade on the side nearest me.