336 BROADLAND SPORT 



made a temporary home, and lying at length upon the 

 hatchways in the shade, a wreath of blue smoke, curling 

 heavenwards above the dense foliage on the borders of the 

 uplands, called to mind the fact that an old friend, John Balls, 

 resided close by. What more natural than that an afternoon 

 walk should resolve itself into a visit to his cosy yet 

 picturesque abode. 



A RAMBLE ROUND THE COVERTS. 



" Morning, Balls ! going for a walk round ? Well, we'll 

 come too if we may and listen to your idea of what covert 

 management ought to be" and good old Balls opens his 

 wicket gate, crosses the rustic bridge which spans the brook 

 rippling past his cottage, and we foot it together down the 

 central glade. 



Now John Balls, head keeper to - , was a typical 

 specimen of what a head keeper ought to be. He knew 

 " what was what," yet never refused to listen to the views of 

 others, nor condemned a suggested improvement in his calling 

 without giving it a fair trial, 'because it was new. Like Cato 

 (where time was no object) he would reason with anyone, 

 because it could do him no harm and he might learn some- 

 thing. 



" Well you see, sir, now the season's over, I want my beats 

 to lie as quiet and snug as possible, and I give orders to my 

 men to leave their guns and dogs at home. If a chap ain't 

 cute enough to get along with his traps, he ain't much use to 

 me. A gun is useful at times, and a good dog is serviceable 

 in finding nests, but I don't like 'em even then. No ! traps ! 

 traps ! traps ! them's the boys for me. I can't explain to you 

 now, sir, all I know about traps ; I could talk for a week and 

 then I should want to go on for another but let us just walk 

 through here. This is my idea of a covert, not too thick, but 

 just thick enough, allowing the sun to get in, with some nice 

 open places for the birds to play and dry themselves after 

 rain and avoid the constant drip in foggy weather. Notice 



