HOW I BECAME A KEEPER 3 



And how I envied the keeper his life and his pound 

 a week ! Then I saw only the bright side of the 

 calling ; I knew nothing of its ruggedness, its ups 

 and downs, its constant worries, its bitter disappoint- 

 ments and quiet joys. Little did I think that one 

 day my boyish dreams were to be fulfilled, even to 

 living on less than a pound a week. 



My first attempt at firing a gun came about in 

 this way : My brother and I purloined a cartridge, 

 withdrew the charge, and reloaded the case on a 

 very small scale. We then shut ourselves in the 

 harness-room, to reduce the risk of detection, placed 

 an empty tin on the mantelpiece, and, after much 

 discussion, hesitation, and blinking of eyes, I loosed 

 off. What a fright we had ! for the shot rebounded 

 on to us pretty smartly. However, we were 

 tremendously proud of a dent in that tin. We were 

 allowed soon after this to amuse ourselves with a 

 pair of old muzzle-loaders and caps only and with 

 these we blew out tremendous bags of candles. 

 Then we would hold mimic shooting-parties. My 

 sister represented the beaters ; the shrubs were our 

 coverts ; blackbirds and thrushes our pheasants ; 

 the smaller birds our partridges ; the household 

 cat, often much against her will, was made to 

 act the part of a hare ; and we imagined an occa- 

 sional woodcock. After I was thirteen I shot a 

 good deal, doing my share towards proving that it 

 was possible to hit a driven partridge. 



