She jumped three feet perpendicular and away at the top of her speed.

"Bungler!" said Martin.
A sure proof he was not an habitual bungler, or he would have blamed the hare.

He had scarcely fitted another arrow to his string when a wood-pigeon settled on the very tree he stood under.

"Aha!" thought he, "you are small, but dainty." This time he took more pains; drew his arrow carefully, loosed it smoothly, and saw it, to all appearance, go clean through the bird, carrying feathers skyward like dust.

Instead of falling at his feet, the bird, whose breast was torn, not fairly pierced, fluttered feebly away, and, by a great effort, rose above the trees, flew some fifty yards and dead at last; but where, he could not see for the thick foliage.
"Luck is against me," said he despondingly.