132 SHOOTING THE PARTRIDGE 
miss, sometimes two running, generally poking shots 
at birds which have passed close by while you were 
changing guns, and which somehow baffle you against 
the rising stubble behind. Why you don’t know, but 
you miss three or four in the same place and in the 
same way, though otherwise you are ‘all right’ A 
great big lot, three or four coveys packed together, 
pours out at the upper end over the left hand, and, 
swinging round in the wind, heads straight down the 
line of guns. Here they come, streaming high and 
fast, getting a broadside from each of the men on 
your left. ‘One—two’ with your first gun, ‘ three— 
four’ with your second—the last a beauty, and as 
they come clattering down like cricket balls about the 
head of your right-hand neighbour, you feel you have 
done your duty. 
A hare leaps through a run in the fence bottom, 
sits foolishly with ears laid back for a second, and 
then dashes for it past you. Let her go, she will do 
to breathe the farmer’s greyhounds in February ; 
‘here’s metal more attractive,’ for birds are still com- 
ing. But the whimpering of your retriever at the 
close view of the forbidden fur, and the consequent 
objurgations of the keeper behind, sufficiently 
distract you to make you snap at and miss an 
easy bird in front with your first, and turn and 
