ROUGH SHOOTING 239 



bright brown eyes look up into his master's 

 face. Corn-fields, hundreds of acres, reach 

 down here to within half-a-mile of the tide. 

 Birds are about, but they have not the least 

 interest for the lad who is so intently listening ; 

 he has seen and heard all these before ; but 

 this cry is something new Very carefully does 

 he examine the nipple of his single barrel, to 

 see that the priming is well up ; then he speaks 

 to his dog : " You and I, Nip, must thresh this 

 matter out. Come on. Steady, Nip, steady !" 

 Weet-weet. Wit-wit-weet. Weet-wit-weet. 

 " Steady, Nip, steady!" Then the bird-note 

 ceases for a time, and, gliding in and out the 

 tangle, more like a stoat than a dog, Nip tries 

 to nose out the creature that "Weet-weet" 

 proceeds from at first without success. 



" Hi Nip, here!" and the intelligent 

 creature at once comes to him. " It's a 

 runner o' some sort, Nip a sharp one, too ; 

 but we shall find him presently. You come 

 and have a lap of water out of the pool. 

 Now we'll go on another tack. Hi, on ! 

 He's handy ; hark to him ! " Weet-weet-weet- 

 weet-wit wit-weet. Needles in bundles of hay 

 are hard to find, we are told ; and so are some 

 kinds of birds. 



