68 A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK 



have young, hundreds of birds come in daily from 

 overseas but supplies for all seem at the lowest ebb. 



v 



In the keeper's year there is no moment so delightful 

 as when he finds his first wild pheasant's egg. The 



earliest egg of the season is looked on almost 

 T f Eff? ^ e a nugget of gold. You may observe a 



keeper turning out of his way to pass 

 along the sunny side of a hedgerow favoured by 

 pheasants, craning his neck to look at the far side 

 of a tuft of withered grass, and with his stick turning 

 over the dead leaves of a likely hollow. Day after 

 day, in early April, he perseveres in his quest ; and 

 though he may find scores of depressions scooped 

 out by the hens " scrapes " he calls them it may 

 be a long while before his search is rewarded by the 

 sight he yearns for. He is appeased though he has 

 but found something found thousands of times 

 before, only a pheasant's egg. But it is the first of a 

 new season, and precious beyond all others. There 

 may have been eggs already in his pens. The penned 

 birds are protected from wind and cold rains. They 

 live on a well-drained plot facing the south, and they 

 are treated so liberally to rich foods, spices, and tonic 

 drinks that they can hardly help laying early. The 

 first egg is a satisfaction, but nothing like the first 

 wild-laid egg. At the earliest chance, the finder 

 meets a brother keeper, and his story of the finding 



