2 12 MY MOOR 



of ranee. The rest of the wood Is blank. 

 At Its end is a dismal-looking alder-grown 

 swamp, which holds two woodcock. Both go 

 away wild, and R. gives them the customary 

 salute. Now comes another bit of oak 

 cover. I am on the high road outside, when 

 a hen pheasant sails over and goes away 

 untouched. As 1 reload my two barrels, a 

 jolly farmer's wife drives past me In a gig. 



'* Saved his life this time, sir ! " she says ; 

 and I feel scored off. 



That Is the only pheasant there, but at the 

 edge where the covert Is lower R. secures a 

 hare. We now turn to the moor Itself. For 

 some time we see nothing, till at last we 

 approach a boggy stream and change our 

 cartridges. 



Scape! scape! — Bang !— and R. has him, 

 the only snipe there to-day. A little further 



