THE SHOOTING-BOOT'S LAMENT 137 



Our life certainly has been a hard one. But for the long 

 rest during half the year even we, with our tough constitutions, 

 could not have stood it so long. Out for long, long days, my 

 faithful companion and I, ministering to our master's pleasure 

 in wet and snow, chilled and soaked through and through, 

 our skin knocked off by sharp stones, or torn by those horrid 

 prickly shrubs, we, on return home, the tight lacing being at 

 once undone, were taken off and placed in a nice warm place, 

 our bent and sinking frames supported by wooden trees, and 

 we were fed with fat which soaked into our very nature and 

 gave us new life and made us sleek and fair to look upon. 

 Sometimes, though rarely, the man who took us in charge when 

 we had as usual done our duty, suffering probably from bad 

 temper or neglected education, would almost roast us at the fire, 

 or give us bad and evil-smelling food. Then in revenge for such 

 ill-deserved treatment we would harden our nature and shrink 

 into ourselves, and afterwards give pain to our master, in order 

 that he might visit his anger upon the careless servant. This 

 never failed, and it delighted us to listen to" the lecture read, 

 although the language used was none of the best. After a time 

 we would recover our temper and smooth out the wrinkles of 

 our displeasure, and everything would be forgiven and forgotten. 

 The more excuses were made about our condition the richer 

 would become master's language, and we must say that he was 

 a proficient in the art. When anything went wrong, if he shot 

 badly and some one else killed the birds he had missed, he 

 would stamp his foot and shake our very soles, and perhaps 

 bruise our toes by vigorously kicking some unoffending stone 

 or anything that came in the way. We never could make out 

 why he should vent his rage on us, for never was it our fault. 

 What we hated most, however and then we really had a hard 

 time and suffered agonies was when after a long day in rough 

 country and little to shoot, we were constantly knocked against 

 every inequality of ground and tumbled into every hole, instead 

 of being taken lightly over every obstacle, as had been the case 

 in the morning. It was agony, and bruised us terribly. From 

 past experience we would then long for a bird to get up, for 

 a successful shot made master step carefully once more, thereby 

 saving us many a hard knock and severe sprain. I remember 

 during one of my frequent journeys I was wrapped up in paper, 



