From Fox's Earth 



convention always does at the unconventional. 

 It took them not under its private umbrella, 

 though earth took them under the canopy of the 

 sky. It might shoot one that came in the way, 

 perhaps to empty the gun, as it might shoot a 

 weasel, but was not serious. It picked the 

 creature up with a certain half-unwilling admira- 

 tion of its shape and hues, and hesitated whether 

 or no to drop it into the bag. In moor, field, and 

 covert it was neither game nor quite vermin ; 

 neither to be petted nor quite killed out. 



Mire snipe nest on the moors, and rear broods 

 there. The bird that rose, wildly as a sudden 

 breeze, when grouse were few, and sportsmen on 

 the way down the hill, needed a sharp aim and a 

 nice judgment. Once, twice, thrice, they tried, 

 and failed. The zigzag movement was so puzz- 

 ling. A wild challenge came back from the 

 vanishing forms. "You can hit a lumbering 

 grouse," it seemed to say, " but this is beyond 

 you." It was very irritating ; they would try 

 again. So they fired till they hit, and still fired, 

 till they mastered the art of hitting. It became 

 interesting, made good practice, and was matter 

 of boast over a pipe in the evening. One told 

 me the other day that he had killed snipe with 

 right and left. He spoke with justifiable pride, 

 but without the gravity with which he summed up 

 the bag of grouse. 



If the month be September, and part of the 

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