CHAPTER LXXVIII 



THE PHEASANT 



The pheasant is a lover of the reed-bed and marshland, 

 though this has been denied by the Cockney journalist. In 

 winter, 'tis true, he prefers the warm cover by the water- 

 side, but in spring he delights to nest on the open marsh, 

 and to hunt for food through the reed-bed. When the early 

 mists of spring wrap covert and lagoon in a grey cloud, you 

 may hear the shrill proud challenge of the cock-birds, for 

 they pair early, wandering over the marshes and along the 

 wakes, and in the cars, till they find a suitable nesting- 

 place, often la3'ing on the open marsh in a clump of rushes, 

 making their nest of leaves, grass, or rush on the ground, 

 whereon they lay ten or twelve eggs. At this season — the 

 middle of April — they lie very close, and you may tread 

 upon them. The hen, too, when sitting, is not easily put 

 off her nest. I have in fact lifted her off with a stick, she 

 hissing like a snake all the time, and yet she would not 

 leave the nest. Directly the young are out of the shell, 

 they leave the nest and follow the old birds about the 

 marshes, feeding on ants and ants' eggs, insects, and corn, 

 when they can get it. The mother never leaves them till 

 they are almost full-grown, when the clutch separates and 

 scatters over marsh, reed-bush, and corn-field, wandering into 

 turnip-fields and plantings in search of worms, of which they 

 are very fond, and they even frequent hedgerows. But as 

 winter draws near they prefer reed-beds, thorn bushes, and 

 sallow bushes, whence they are to be flushed at the top of an 

 autumn or winter day, as the acute gunners know well. On 



