i82 WITH THE WOODLANDERS. 



the brake where I hides 'em afore they cums over ; 

 they wun't see me : they're shy things is black- 

 game oncommon shy if they cums on ye suddin 

 like. Now you git in my brake shanty, behind 

 this 'ere old thorn, an' keep yer eyes open." 



In front of us, for some hundred yards or more, 

 was a clear space of moorland hollow, one of thou- 

 sands, clear of all trees, but covered with the richest 

 and thickest moss that it is possible to find in any 

 county in England ; emerald - green it is, tipped 

 with lemon colour, and pale rose and warm golden 

 brown, cotton - grass bents shooting up through 

 it. Patches of dark peat are there, dry and crum- 

 bling, the dead heather roots showing like a grey 

 network through the dark -brown soil. Straggling 

 bits and bunches of thorns, dead and withered, 

 covered over with moss as grey as the dead bits 

 of thorn they cling to ; stones are scattered all 

 about, not in heaps or wild disorder, but a few 

 here and a few there, with wide spaces between 

 them, the outcrop of the moor, weather - stained 

 and lichen-covered, in pale greys, drabs, and sulphur 

 yellows. Then, again, are rush-clumps, red-brown 

 at their bases, and the freshest of greens at their 



