FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS 17 



CHAPTEE IV 



THE WOODCOCK SAGA 



How well I remember a certain day in the by-gone 

 years, when for the first time a great truth suddenly 

 burst upon me in all its glory. The morning's 

 sport had been unsuccessful. We were all fairly 

 tired, and some of us, in spite of the moderate 

 temperature, were perspiring freely. For we had 

 been walking up late partridges most of the morn- 

 ing, with just an occasional shot here and there at 

 pheasants in covert. Now, late partridges are per- 

 haps the least amenable of created things. They 

 cherish a perfectly ridiculous conviction that nature, 

 in endowing them with life, intended that they 

 should preserve it, and consequently they hold it 

 to be their one aim and object to fly, whirring and 

 cheeping, out of sight, long before even an en- 

 thusiastic shot could have a chance of proving to 

 them how beautifully a bird can be missed. For 



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