THE ‘‘QUAIL’’ 65 
fence the sportsman goes, his dog all a-wrig- 
gle with joy. Toiling to keep up and envying 
his comrade that extra pair of legs, the man 
ploughs through the briars and pushes his way 
through thick-growing alder clumps along the 
springy gullies, into the birches—the same 
haunts which charm the grouse—and strides 
down the fence line, broad-margined with its 
tangle of weeds, rosebriars and blackberry 
bushes, with scrubby pines and young trees of 
various sorts growing along its devious way. 
A gravelly path across the fields lies athwart 
the pointer’s track and as he runs the tell-tale 
scent suddenly reaches the quivering high-lifted 
nostrils. He plows the sand with all four feet 
in the effort to stop, then wheels at right angles 
and draws on a few steps to halt with tense 
muscles and glaring eyes. He has them! The 
sportsman pauses to admire the scene before 
the spell is broken, and his heart throbs high 
with pleasure and pride in the performance of 
this, his chiefest jewel. Then at his close ap- 
proach, with the rustle and roar of many striv- 
ing pinions the air is suddenly filled with fly- 
ing forms—little balls of brown with a haze 
at each side where are their buzzing wings. 
