i8o ROUND THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 



we replied, with the pride that apes humility ; " we 

 have shot six red-legs and a hare." 



" Shot 'em ! " replied our friend, with bitter irony. 

 " Shot 'em ! you don't shoot 'em, you walk 'em to 

 dead ! " and he stamped off home. 



Whether this insinuation were true or not and we 

 certainly did rather tire our birds neither shooting 

 nor walking will command a bag in Berks in late 

 December, and I have found that the only way to 

 make sure of a few brace is to try the kite. This 

 Christmas the frost fog settled on the hill, and the 

 absence of wind to blow away mist and influenza 

 made the kite impossible. But this was unusual. 



A day marked by all the good and evil of " kite- 

 flying " was that on which Eton restored some 

 thousand young gentlemen to " make the home 

 brighter" during the Christmas holidays. One of 

 these was expected by an early train a sporting 

 youth of seventeen, who naturally did not wish to 

 waste a minute of the precious time ; and to meet 

 this view it was arranged to begin so soon as ever 

 the dogcart could deposit him at the cross roads, 

 ready to take instant part in the business of the hour. 

 Tt was a nice bright day, with enough wind to fly 

 the kite, and sun to make the birds rather less anxious 

 to shift their quarters than usual. Two coveys even 

 rose within a long shot under a fence as we were 

 getting the machine into working order, and a lively 

 runner was claimed by all three of the party as the 

 result of a general discharge. The kite was duly 



