AMERICAN WOODCOCK 119 
and iron is but a question of dollars and cents, 
but the dog—ah! That’s another matter! 
It is a pretty sight to see Mr. Woodcock strut 
along ahead of your dog, looking for all the 
world like a small boy stepping proudly off 
with his hands in the pockets of his first trou- 
sers. Suddenly he crouches on the ground—a 
leap and he has cleared the alder tops, hover- 
ing an instant to get his bearings or make sure 
he is clear of the brush, then away! He makes 
a pretty picture as he buzzes over the tops of 
the low growth, his head half turned, with 
watchful eye upon his enemy, and the merry 
whistle of his pinions growing fainter as he 
goes, but it is a more pleasing sight to most of 
us to see him shut his wings and come turning 
over and over to the ground after the little 
short-barreled gun has been well handled. 
Still, let that second’s hesitating hovering pass 
unimproved and the chances are that he will 
escape. . 
The Woodcock loves the thickest, densest 
cover of the woods, where there may be no 
chance to raise the gun to the shoulder, the 
tangle of crossing branches catching the bar- 
