146 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



forehead, and so thick that they whitened the '^ after- 

 math " or long grass in the meadows, he would draw 

 up to and stand a snipe as if on a fine but light- 

 breezed day he had come on a large covey of par- 

 tridges. At once Medor and I became intimately 

 acquainted ; language between us was not needed ; 

 a sign sufficed ; and had I been in a country where 

 there was much game, my bag had never been better. 

 Thoroughly and utterly unbroke, all he did he did 

 from a sagacious knowledge of what he must do to 

 bring the gun to bear ; and we never by any chance 

 fell out, unless our beat took us down to the river. 

 With Medor there it was the same as with the old 

 French hounds in the woods — anything was worth 

 hunting, however worthless when killed ; and he 

 would beat the bushes and swim after moorhens and 

 dabchicks with as much pertinacity and delight as he 

 would rancre for better game. This did not please 

 me, and then only I had to chide him. 



Thus, shooting for a few hours and fishing for a 

 few hours, attention to the kennel intervening, I 

 passed my time — my bag of partridges, landrails, 

 quails, with an occasional whole snipe, being better 

 than my basket of fish. 



To show the sagacity of Medor, and his knowledge 

 of my meaning, one afternoon I came in from fishing. 



