THE KEYNOTE OF SPORT 7 



What a panorama of bird life is here. In 

 the still air the distant " Go back, go back," 

 of an old cock grouse, near by already in the 

 stubble the "cheep-cheep" of partridges, con- 

 fiding grey hens whirr over our heads, while 

 their handsome lords the blackcock strut 

 around dragging their white-rimmed wings 

 against the ground, pluming and preening 

 themselves with outspread tails, like so many 

 vain peacocks and bubbly-jocks. In the far 

 distance the lone note of the curlew cries like 

 some wandering ghost of the moor. 



The keeper boy, who has been stationed at 

 the far corner of the field to wait till a goodly 

 number of birds are busy in the stocks, now 

 walks slowly towards them, and we in our 

 zareba peeping through the dyke make ready 

 to open fire as the scared birds stream back to 

 the moor. Lucky you are if an old fat black- 

 cock or one or two scudding grouse fall to 

 your share. A patient wait for another half 

 hour or hour, greed befriends you, the birds 

 fly in again to resume their supper, and the 

 game begins all over again. The sun goes 



