CHAPTER III 
MY FIRST SHOOT 
Sweet September—Estimating birds—A night out—False alarms— 
Hungry, wet, and weary—The First— Bubble bags—A lurcher— 
My friend the shepherd—Ten-thirty—Who knows best ?—My 
first tip—Forty and a half brace ! 
TuIs important event took place on a fine September 
day in the year 1897 (memorable also for the 
Diamond Jubilee). It was the event of my first 
season as a full-blown keeper, with responsibilities 
and all the rest of it of my very own. Great was 
the pleasure of anticipation ; greater still the relief 
when it was over. First of all I must give some 
description of the context of that day of fadeless 
memory. It is never the easiest thing in the world 
to form a correct estimate of the number of partridges 
on a given acreage of ground, especially before the 
shooting season, and when corn is still standing in 
big open fields. Certainly, I knew that I had some 
birds—more than enough, I hoped, to make a bag 
of six and a half brace; in fact, that there were 
several fine coveys. That in all there were so 
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