138 The Confessions of a Poacher. 



woods. It was a bright morning in the last 

 week of October, and game hares, pheasants, 

 and woodcock was exceedingly plentiful. 

 The first firing brought up the keeper, who 

 touched his hat in the most respectful fashion. 

 He behaved, in short, precisely as I would 

 have had him behave. I lost no time on 

 quietly congratulating him on the number and 

 quality of his birds ; told him that his master 

 would return from town to-morrow (which 

 I had learned incidentally), and ended by 

 handing him my cartridge bag to carry, A 

 splendid bag of birds had been made by lun- 

 cheon time, and the viands which constituted 

 the meal were very much in keeping with my 

 assumed position. Dusk came at the close of 

 the short October afternoon, and with it the 

 end of our day's sport. The bag was spread 

 out in one of the rides of the wood, and in 

 imagination I can see it now thirty-seven 

 pheasants, nine hares, five woodcock, a few 

 rabbits, some cushats, and the usual " miscel- 

 laneous." The man of gaiters was despatched 

 a couple of miles for a cart to carry the spoil. 



