And so Henry, after a moment's hesitation, the cause of which he himself scarcely knew, picked the spot near the shoulder that Ross had mentioned, and pulled the trigger.
The stag stood for a moment or two as if dazed, then leaped into the air and ran to the edge of the woods, where he pitched down head foremost.
His body quivered for a little while and then lay still.
Henry was proud of his marksmanship, but he felt some remorse, too, when he looked upon his victim.

Yet he was eager to tell his father and his young sister and brother of his success.

They took off the pelt and cut up the deer.

A part of the haunch Henry ate for dinner and the antlers were fastened over the fireplace, as the first important hunting trophy won by the eldest son of the house.
Henry did not boast much of his triumph, although he noticed with secret pride the awe of the children.

His best friend, Paul Cotter, openly expressed his admiration, but Braxton Wyatt, a boy of his own age, whom he did not like, sneered and counted it as nothing.