SPORT IN ONTARIO 151 



and other fruit-bearing plants, which in parts grew well 

 above one's knees. This formed what the farmer 

 facetiously called his grouse moor. 



The day was warm, and it was precious stiff walking 

 through the ground cover, and my thoughts flew away 

 to the purple heather-clad moorlands of Scotland. For 

 a long time not a feather was moved, and I began to 

 wonder whether the farmer had not depleted his " moor " 

 to supply the market. Suddenly, however, the dog, 

 which was ranging a short distance ahead, gave tongue, 

 and up got a covey of seven ruffed grouse between the 

 farmer and myself, and came past me left-handed. 



Singling out the leading bird, I had the satisfaction 

 of seeing him crumple up like an old glove ; but I missed 

 clean ^^ith my second barrel. The farmer scored a long 

 and very pretty " right and left," and then the remaining 

 four birds disappeared behind a clump of silver-birch 

 trees. To my disgust — I was unacquainted with the 

 duties and ways of the Canadian bird-dog — " Zaza " 

 galloped off hell for leather in the wake of the grouse. 



Thinking that the farmer had not noticed the sudden 

 exit of his beloved dog, I ventured to rate her, but I was 

 very silenced by Mac's somewhat vehement, " Hoots, 

 mon, leave the bitch alone ! She's only gone to tree 

 the birds." 



What " treeing " meant I hadn't the faintest idea, 

 but, not wishing to display further ignorance about 

 ruffed grouse shooting, I refrained from asking any 

 questions. 



For the space of a few minutes silence reigned over 

 that vast expanse of forest, and then the distant yapping 

 of the dog came faintly to our ears. 



