214 MY MOOR 



consequently had not noticed us. This Is the 

 end of the moor, so we turn back on a 

 parallel higher beat. Presendy, R. walks 

 right into the remains of a covey — three 

 birds — and neatly grasses two. The third 

 goes on, and we find him in the next little 

 valley, but too wild to do anything with, as he 

 is off as we appear over the ridge. Well, we 

 are not going in pursuit of a solitary par- 

 tridge, so we sit down to lunch by a purling 

 moor-rlll. Never does ten-year-old whisky 

 taste better than mixed with the moor water, 

 does it ? 



Lunch despatched, and the post-prandial 

 pipe smoked, we walk on over the burnt 

 ground, and work a lot of oak scrub ; but, as 

 we all have to go in, all we do is to hear 

 an occasional yapping, and the rise of several 

 pheasants. I see one of the dachshunds 



