PARTRIDGE-SHOOTING 57 



We were having no shooting-parties just then, so 

 he was allowed, much against my inclination, to 

 fool about by himself when and where he liked. 

 One morning, when I was with some hand-reared 

 pheasants in a wood, beyond which was a large 

 piece of roots, I heard an occasional bang-bang. 

 This was enough to tell me that the boy was on 

 the war-path. As I feared they would, the bang- 

 bangs became much nearer and much more frequent, 

 interspersed with tremendous yelling on the part 

 of the boy, and yapping on the part of his wild 

 spaniel. As the uproar continued for some time, 

 and I knew that a couple of minutes of it must have 

 caused most of the partridges to clear out, I began 

 to have suspicions. To have gone to the edge of 

 the wood and watched the performance would have 

 been easy. But it was not necessary. There was 

 a frequent swish of wings as my pheasants returned 

 to covert. At the next feed there were to be seen 

 some that crawled, some that hopped, and some 

 that drooped a wing. Luckily that boy returned 

 to school in the evening, but not before he came 

 with great glee to tell me he had bagged so many 

 partridges. I asked if they all were partridges, 

 and he confessed there was some doubt about one. 

 That was all the satisfaction I got. 



There is no doubt that the fewer the partridges, 

 the better they lie. This bears out my surmise that 

 the increasing wildness of partridges must be 



