HOW I BECAME A KEEPER 3 
And how I envied the keeper his life and his pound 
aweek! Then I saw only the bright side of the 
calling; I knew nothing of its ruggedness, its ups 
and downs, its constant worries, its bitter disappoint- 
ments and quiet joys. Little did I think that one 
day my boyish dreams were to be fulfilled, even to 
living on less than a pound a week. 
My first attempt at firing a gun came about in 
this way : My brother and I purloined a cartridge, 
withdrew the charge, and reloaded the case on a 
very small scale. We then shut ourselves in the 
harness-room, to reduce the risk of detection, placed 
an empty tin on the mantelpiece, and, after much 
discussion, hesitation, and blinking of eyes, I loosed 
off. What a fright we had! for the shot rebounded 
on to us pretty smartly. However, we were 
tremendously proud of a dent in that tin. We were 
allowed soon after this to amuse ourselves with a 
pair of old muzzle-loaders and—caps only—and with 
these we blew out tremendous bags of candles. 
Then we would hold mimic shooting-parties. My 
sister represented the beaters; the shrubs were our 
coverts ; blackbirds and thrushes our pheasants ; 
the smaller birds our partridges; the household 
cat, often much against her will, was made to 
act the part of a hare; and we imagined an occa- 
sional woodcock. After I was thirteen I shot a 
good deal, doing my share towards proving that it 
was possible to hit a driven partridge. 
