92 CHAPTER XIV. 



I found Morrison laying the birds out in front of me upon the ground 

 until he had counted twelve brace. 



In the afternoon we went on in the same way until about four 

 o'clock, when, the motor having come for us again, we started back 

 to the Castle. I think I shot less well in the afternoon than in the 

 morning. I know I saw fewer birds. I had, though, I remember, 

 sixteen and a half brace of partridges and two rabbits and a jacksnipe, 

 for a total bag. 



The next day I was to have some mixed shooting near the Castle. 

 Campbell again directed me and at my request this time he carried a 

 gun. We picked up another keeper and took a turnip field quite 

 close to the home place. In fact, just through a wood and across a 

 small stream from it. 



Here the first bird to get out of his comfortable hiding place among 

 the green plants was a pheasant. A royal pheasant of England. Just 

 that same bird which on the Pacific Coast of America is called the 

 "Mongolian." He is the ring-necked Chinese pheasant, of gorgeous 

 plumage if a cock, and of brown modest tones if a hen. The tail is 

 long and the bird seems clumsy, but its capacity for flight is astonish- 

 ing after it gets under way. It rises rather slowly and makes an easy 

 mark when walked up, as I found on this my first experience with 

 the Mongolian in Scotland. 



I had shot him in Oregon and in Washington and he seemed like an 

 old friend. Later on, as I shall say, I had an opportunity to try the 

 pheasant out as a driven bird and I assure you the proposition was an 

 entirely different one. However, that must wait its turn for the telling. 



I lunched today on a sloping bank, perfectly sheltered from the wind, 

 while the sun shone down with a gentle warmth almost like that of 

 summer. In front of me, as I sat, a pleasant meadow, brown with 

 autumn's hues, stretched away to a wood which wrapped a little river 

 round, itself burned red and brown and yellow by the piercing nip of 

 early frost. Beyond the river the wood rose gradually with the hill, 

 but not too high or too quickly to rob the scene of its softness. 



A lonesome curlew, seeking God knows what solace from his solitary 

 activities, flew high in the air along the course of the stream, punctuating 

 his progress with characteristic cries. Gone, he seemed, and out of our 

 world, when back he came, again, only to turn and pass and repass. 



