MY BROTHER KEEPERS 207 
ship offended by a gun who shot birds before they 
rose at all. The high-bird keeper would be dis- 
gusted at the sight of a flank-gun mowing down 
birds representing supremely sporting shots for the 
forward guns. The high-bird keeper belongs, I 
consider, to the highest standard of sportsmanship. 
If he found himself filling a post where mops would 
be more sporting weapons than guns, he would 
have my sympathy were he sacked on the spot for 
deprecating the proceedings as massacre. The old 
keeper who years ago had charge of a shoot I once 
managed was a grand sportsman—to the fullest 
extent of his creed. He is now dead, perhaps 
fortunately ; for if he could have seen with mortal 
eye my plan of beating the coverts, and the posi- 
tions of the guns, I am sure he would be seized with 
a fatal fit. I shall never forget his excitement when 
he watched me kill the first driven partridge he 
had ever seen definitely stopped. It was a kill in 
striking contrast to that of other birds alleged to 
have collapsed after topping some brow on the 
horizon. I have always felt thankful, for the old 
chap’s sake, that I failed to score a brace. 
Keenness is one of the most striking qualities of 
keepers as a class. You certainly meet with keen- 
ness personified when you see the porters who greet 
the arrival of main-line trains at the London stations. 
Theirs is not the same species of keenness as 
keepers’. Porters’ keenness is begotten of lust for 
