POTTERING 71 



in the " poaching pocket " of my much maligned coat, 

 Mistress " Jet," who has been working round the margin 

 of the pond on her own account, suddenly gives tongue. 

 Looking over my shoulder, I view a thumping hare 

 loping over the ground, and, to my horror, " Jet " 

 that sedate and steady old matron of eight seasons 

 just starting off in pursuit. My cry of " 'Ware chase ! " 

 pulls her up short, and she comes slinking back, stump 

 down, and looking thoroughly ashamed. Remem- 

 bering it is the old lady's first day out with the gun this 

 season, I do not rate her too severely, and off we go again 

 on our quiet potter. 



For some little time after the passing of the hare, 

 nothing, with the exception of a rabbit which gets away 

 unscathed, is met with. 



At length we arrive at the apex of a triangular-shaped 

 enclosure of rough, knee-high bents interspersed with 

 firs and other young trees. " Hie in, good bitch ! 

 Steady ! " and old " Jet " crawls through the low posts 

 and rails that enclose the plantation, and commences to 

 work the rank ground-cover up- wind. With a loud 

 and startling " whirr," up gets a nide of seven pheasants, 

 so near to me that I notice how forward in plumage two 

 of the young cocks are. Five of the " long-tails " 

 their " steering-gear " is remarkably well developed 

 go on their way rejoicing, while the brace of young 

 cocks in question come crashing through the firs, to the 

 evident delight of the Cocker, whose dusky, satin-like 

 head is just visible above the bents. 



A few minutes later " Jet " puts up a well-grown 

 leveret, and, although the black of her lugs are the only 

 portion of her anatomy showing above the cover, I 



