WE WALK ACROSS 109 
Now we had a cock grouse; and the next and 
obvious reflection was, Why not cook a grouse ? 
So Hyland cut off the wings, pulled out the tail, cleaned 
the bird, and then we stuffed him, feathers and all, into 
the middle of the fire, and collecting more and more 
moss piled it on the top. 
From time to time we took a peep just to see how the 
bird was getting on. But always he was just the same 
feathered fowl as we had put him in. The feathers were 
a trifle singed, and that was all. At the end of some 
half-an-hour it looked just as hopeless. This we could 
not understand, because the fire really was quite hot 
inside. So then we began to probe with knives. They 
seemed to go in very easily. 
There was no doubt about it—the bird was getting 
soft ! 
We gave it another ten minutes or so, and then pulled 
it out of the fire, determined to have grouse for supper, 
done or underdone. It came out a perfectly cooked 
grouse. The feathers, which were barely singed, stripped 
clean off with the skin; and there he was, just like a 
gipsy’s hedgehog. 
I can only tell you this, that no grouse ever turned out 
of the kitchen by your best fancy cook was a patch on 
this bird. And that it should be so stands to reason. 
For trussed and roasted in the ordinary way all the tea, 
so to say, runs out of the tea-leaves. So that I am sure 
ours is the way in which to cook all feathered game. 
