154 En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 



monished to speak slowly, would start off 

 on an enraptured strain about prospects 

 every few minutes, in the same way as 

 Sam and I encourage each other when 

 the ruffed grouse at home are fat and 

 the chestnuts shine in plump brownness 

 through the yellow and crumply leaves 

 under foot. Thistles and plantain and 

 clover grew with familiar grasses along 

 the road, and shocks of corn were waiting 

 to be husked. A little way ahead a high 

 thatched windmill swung its long arms 

 slowly around in the light breeze, and 

 over the top of a hill to the right the 

 ends of another windmill's arms appeared 

 and disappeared at regular intervals. 

 Every now and then a big white and 

 black magpie slid from a tree overhead 

 as we jogged along, or a flock of lead- 

 colored crows (Corvus cor nix) changed 

 fence-posts and cawed a recognition. Over 

 the bay long lines of geese were cleaving 

 the air with waving wings, and an occa- 

 sional mallard or snipe settled in among 

 the feathery-topped rushes near us. 



The sun was beginning to soften the 



