POTTERING 69 



surprise, and I doubt not she imagines me uncommonly 

 slack this morning. 



Braving the very remote possibility of my worthy 

 landlord prosecuting me for damaging his hedge to the 

 extent of one halfpenny, I enlarge a gap in the same 

 and enter a big wheat stubble. The sun now emerges 

 from the bank of leaden clouds behind which he has 

 been sulking since early morning. What a vast differ- 

 ence does a little sunshine make to either man and beast ! 

 Half-an-hour ago it was a " toss up with a button " as to 

 whether I remained at home or took out a gun for a 

 stroll in search of a brace of " little brown birds " or 

 wild pheasants. Now that the sun is shining, however, 

 I feel like " beating the boundaries " from point to 

 point, while my four-footed companion also seems to 

 appreciate the belated but thrice-welcome visit of King 

 Sol. 



That time and labour-saving invention, the self-bind- 

 ing and reaping machine, has shorn the stubble well-nigh 

 as close as a cheap German barber crops the heads 

 of his customers. One does not, therefore, expect game 

 to lie like the proverbial stones in such sparse ground- 

 cover as this. Nevertheless, a covey of twelve well- 

 grown birds are flushed from the headland of the field, 

 and within easy range, a few minutes after I have forced 

 a passage through the before-mentioned gap. How 

 I managed to miss with the first barrel will ever remain 

 a mystery to me, for it was an absurdly simple shot; 

 but miss I did, and only succeeded in " winging " one 

 of the old birds with the second. The " runner " sprints 

 into a ditch half-filled with water and overgrown with 

 brambles. ' Jet " very quickly brings it to hand, 



