276 THE COVERTS 



high green corn, delicately nibbling the tender blades. 



Somehow they are less shy in Germany, where you may 



see them any day of an afternoon grazing with the 



cattle in the sequestered valleys surrounded by woods. 



With us, when they keep themselves to themselves in 



their sylvan retreats, they make frightful havoc of the 



young saplings. That is the best antidote to senti- 



mentalism with the tender-hearted shooter who is 



greatly inclined to spare them for their beauty, and 



feels remorseful when he plunges the hunting-knife in 



the quivering chest. Nothing keeps one up to the 



mark at a Scottish battue like the , expectation of roe. 



Instinctive timidity has bred intense suspicion. The 



sight is as keen as the sense of smell. The crackle of 



a twig, the striking of a match, or the faint whiff of a 



cigarette will give timely warning, and like all deer 



they will rather charge the line of the beaters than 



face an unknown danger in front. The gun standing 



motionless at his post has no notice of their approach. 



The roe moves as if shod in velvet, as indeed he is : 



silent as the shadow he throws forward in the sunshine, 



he emerges phantom-like from the screen of twigs, 



which has never rustled at his passage. The quick eye 



in its circular glance embraces everything : he has a 



glimpse of the sportsman, who may be looking the 



other way, and with one bound into the air, like the 



South African springbok, he clears the ride and 



vanishes as he appeared. The roe is on no friendly 



terms with the fox, who freely takes toll of the young 



fawns when he finds them, and the fox is another 



