POTTERING 71 



in the " poaching pocket " of my much mahgned coat, 

 Mistress " Jet," who has been working round the margin 

 of the pond on her own account, suddenly gives tongue. 

 Looking over my shoulder, I view a thumping hare 

 loping over the ground, and, to my horror, " Jet " — 

 that sedate and steady old matron of eight seasons 

 — just starting off in pursuit. My cry of " 'Ware chase ! " 

 pulls her up short, and she comes slinking back, stump 

 down, and looking thoroughly ashamed. Remem- 

 bering it is the old lady's first day out with the gun this 

 season, I do not rate her too severely, and off we go again 

 on our quiet potter. 



For some little time after the passing of the hare, 

 nothing, with the exception of a rabbit which gets away 

 unscathed, is met with. 



At length we arrive at the apex of a triangular-shaped 

 enclosure of rough, knee-high bents interspersed with 

 firs and other young trees. " Hie in, good bitch ! 

 Steady ! " and old " Jet " crawls through the low posts 

 and rails that enclose the plantation, and commences to 

 work the rank ground-cover up-wind. With a loud 

 and startling " whirr," up gets a nide of seven pheasants, 

 so near to me that I notice how forward in plumage two 

 of the young cocks are. Five of the " long-tails " — 

 their " steering-gear " is remarkably well developed 

 — go on their way rejoicing, while the brace of young 

 cocks in question come crashing through the firs, to the 

 evident delight of the Cocker, whose dusky, satin-like 

 head is just visible above the bents. 



A few minutes later " Jet " puts up a well-grown 

 leveret, and, although the black of her lugs are the only 

 portion of her anatomy showing above the cover, I 



