THE RUFFED GROUSE. 109 



cold, and there are signs of a storm. The hunter looks 

 about him, and asks a boy the best place for partridges. 

 "There's lots of 'em over east," the boy says. "Over 

 east" the country is swampy, and appears to be covered 

 with alders and tamaracks. "That might be all right in 

 the winter," thinks the wise man. 



lie turns to the west. It is hilly, and dotted with 

 both evergreen and deciduous patches. He smiles, and 

 says, mentally: ''Ah! we shall find them there; that boy 

 can't fool me'." He enters a forty-acre tract of compar- 

 atively open woods, in the center of which he sees a 

 thicket. It is on high ground, contains a big pine-tree, a 

 moss-covered drumming-log, and is bordered on one side 

 with beech-trees. 



" Just the place for them!" exclaims the sportsman; 

 "and," reflectively, " it's a little cool this morning, and 

 they may be there yet." 



But they are not there; they have been gone nearly 

 an hour, and are searched for in vain upon the beech- 

 ridge. It is finally noticed that the beech-trees are 

 unfruitful, and the keen hunter turns to the left, where 

 he sees a patch of scrub-oaks. He does not know that 100 

 yards to the right, on lower and more open ground, stand 

 two thorn-apple trees, which produce nearly all the bird- 

 food upon this tract, and that a dozen grouse are squatted 

 there, watching him in mingled wonder and alarm. Had 

 our friend a capable dog, he would have found these 

 birds, as the inclination to follow the nearly cold trail 

 would have been humored, whereas the tyro would have 

 prevented the quartering of apparently barren ground. 



An hour later, the best of men and dogs would have 

 missed this covey. 



How about the boy with the musket; would lie have 

 missed it' 



Oh, no; he would have struck straight for the thicket, 



