AMERICAN WOODCOCK 119 



and iron is but a question of dollars and cents, 

 but the dog — ah! That's another matter! 



It is a pretty sight to see Mr. Woodcock strut 

 along ahead of your dog, looking for all the 

 world like a small boy stepping proudly off 

 with his hands in the pockets of his first trou- 

 sers. Suddenly he crouches on the ground — a 

 leap and he has cleared the alder tops, hover- 

 ing an instant to get his bearings or make sure 

 he is clear of the brush, then away ! He makes 

 a pretty picture as he buzzes over the tops of 

 the low growth, his head half turned, with 

 watchful eye upon his enemy, and the merry 

 whistle of his pinions growing fainter as he 

 goes, but it is a more pleasing sight to most of 

 us to see him shut his wings and come turning 

 over and over to the ground after the little 

 short-barreled gun has been well handled. 

 Still, let that second's hesitating hovering pass 

 unimproved and the chances are that he will 

 escape. 



The Woodcock loves the thickest, densest 

 cover of the woods, where there may be no 

 chance to raise the gun to the shoulder, the 

 tangle of crossing branches catching the bar- 



