‘What a fine fellow you’ve knocked over there!’ I observed.
Yegor raised his head and looked first at me, then at the dog, who had come with me.
‘If it’s shooting you’ve come after, sir, there are woodcocks at Moshnoy—three coveys, and five of moorhens,’ he observed, and set to work again.
With Yegor and with Kondrat I went out the next day in search of sport. We drove rapidly over the open ground surrounding Svyatoe, but when we got into the forest we crawled along at a walking pace once more.
‘Look, there’s a wood-pigeon,’ said Kondrat suddenly, turning to me: ‘better knock it over!’
Yegor looked in the direction Kondrat pointed, but said nothing. The wood-pigeon was over a hundred paces from us, and one can’t kill it at forty paces; there is such strength in its feathers. A few mor
