126 A Day with the Grouse. 



cartridges into the breech that they would 

 not have gone into a peck measure just 

 then. If my efforts at being wise had 

 ever been so severe and so energetic as 

 my efforts to get those cartridges into the 

 breech in time for a shot, the nineteenth 

 century would have had its Solomon. 



One of the birds scudding down the 

 wind past John suddenly folded itself up 

 in mid air, and a long shot at another so 

 surprised the bird that it wheeled and 

 alighted in a hemlock at the edge of the 

 field. 



In brush lot and in bark slashing and 

 from hill-top to swale we found grouse that 

 day, and when in the long shadows of the 

 thin sunlight on a cold-waxing autumn 

 evening we reached the farm-house and 

 spread our birds out upon the woodshed 

 floor, the dogs, with ears full of burrs and 

 memories replete with good deeds, curled 

 up contentedly behind the stove for the 

 night. 



The cider in the blue pitcher that was 

 set upon the table after supper helped to 

 strengthen many of the weak points in the 



