12 THE BOOK OF THE OPEN AIR 



sorry for what we've done, and to shelter under the hen don't ' jug ' in 



hope that such-and-such a thing won't a ring at night, like partridges ; they 



happen to us ; and we've' got to pay sit here and there, or in twos and 



dear for it. When I'm lying abed o' threes, it may be, though never far 



nights, sometimes I'm fancying what from the old birds. The poult the 



'11 happen to me when I'm sick, an' otter caught was a bit too independent 



haven't got a penny in my pocket ; and slept further than he ought to've 



and the sweat pours down my for' head done from the rest of the brood 



with the very thoughts of it. English that was easy to believe from the 



people, they say, don't understand marks on the ground and so, I should 



us in the West, 'cause after a funeral say, the old birds hadn't been fright- 



we're as like as not to get drunk at the ened. Even if they had been, they'd 



inn. 'Tis the black misery and doubt recovered by the time I saw 'em. 

 and lonesomeness of death that we're " In the open by the mound the 



fearing. We can see just what's going old birds were browsing on the tender 



to be with us some day. It's awful ; heather-shoots, pecking at 'em and 



and to shut it out we grab at the jug nipping 'em off dainty-like, for all 



of beer or the whisky bottle, so's we the world like poultry catching flies 



might forget we're certain to follow on the tops of the long grass in a 



the poor thing we lowered into the meadow. But the poults amused 



earth. me most. They'd run from side to 



" But wild creatures be different side, over the mound, or out into the 



they don't rack their brains about narrow path leading to the stream, 



what's happened or likely to happen, as restless as bees. One would take 



They just take life as it comes ; one a fancy for a sprig of heather the hen 



bad sickness or one accident, then was pulling at, and would reach up 



it's over. And I'm often wishing to on tip-toe and nip it off right beneath 



be like 'em. The grouse on the the old bird's beak. Another, by 



mountain didn't worry about the mistake, would break a spray that 



little poult carried by the otter to the was too big to be swallowed whole, 



earn they'd no power to do it. Per- and there'd be a race and a tug-o'-war. 



haps they didn't even know the otter Whenever the cock found something 



'd been that way. You see, sir, grouse- extra good, he'd cluck softly and call 



poults when they grow too big to the youngsters, and they'd gather 



