VERMIN AND TRAPPING 87 



her, with a view to a photograph, I saw before I 

 got near the nest that something was radically 

 wrong. ' Stoats,' I said to myself, and had a look 

 round. They had not interfered with the eggs, 

 which, of course, were spoiled. I could see where 

 the soft grass had been pressed aside in furrows as 

 the spoilers had passed on their tour of destruction. 

 Following in their wake, I saw where they had 

 spread out as if scenting prey, or had paused to 

 enjoy a gambol through a hollow stump or round 

 a tree-trunk. Their direction told me where they 

 would be certain to take lodging in a large solitary 

 bavin-pile on the edge of a broad ride. 



Monday morning came, and two indignant keepers 

 who had set great store on the nest of that silvery- 

 white pheasant went forth, each with a gun and a 

 pocketful of cartridges, and accompanied by the best 

 little terrier that ever lived. We went to the scene 

 of the ruined nest. We did not weep over it, but, 

 having kindled our anger afresh, decided to track 

 down those stoats, even to the extent of trespassing 

 in other people's woods. We knew well enough, 

 we thought, where to go, so that we should have 

 come upon them straightway in the bavin-pile by 

 the broad ride. Perhaps there is something of the 

 cat-and-mouse business about keepers. So we bored 

 our way through the underwood, till, following those 

 furrowy tracks in the soft grass, we came to the 

 pile, and said to each other simultaneously, ' Here 



