The Quail 75 



forest, and thickets slipped behind in rapid succes- 

 sion, each recalling some red-letter or disappoint- 

 ing experience, for we had shot over that country 

 for years. The district we traversed was perhaps 

 not strictly picturesque ; yet seen in the early sun- 

 light it seemed to me to be positively beautiful. 

 Here stretched broad fields of bleaching corn or 

 stubble, bordered with crimson sumach, and backed 

 by smoky thicket ; next, a long pasture, deep 

 green with late fall grass, and spangled with 

 scattered points of color where the painted 

 leaves had settled ; then a big woodland aflame 

 with the crimson and gold of maples, the 

 purple and bronze of oaks, and yellows of nut 

 trees. 



Nine miles from the starting-point we reached 

 a snug farm-house. A boy took the horse, and in 

 brief time we had got into skeleton coats, put 

 guns together, and were ready for business. The 

 farmer, a good, ruddy-faced old soul, too old for 

 more sport, had eyed me for some time in a 

 doubtful sort of way. I had known him years 

 before ; but my name this time had failed to rouse 

 his memory. Just for fun I whistled, " Ka-loi-hee I 

 ka-loi-heef" He at once turned and said : "That's 

 pretty good. I knowed a chap though that could 

 beat it. Years ago he used to hunt round here. 

 He was a regular loafer — a long, lean, slab-sided 

 cuss, always a-foolin' with birds, an' no good fur 



