PROSPECTING FOR WOODCOCK 
charity, kindly sympathy and neighborly 
kindness; there the gently sloping land, 
shorn of its beauty by the intolerant axe of 
the greedy lumberman, and beyond is the 
summit of the hill in calm repose and indif- 
ference, and seeming to look down in dis- 
gust as if to say to all below, ‘I am holier 
than thou.’ 
‘“‘But the sportsman, like the poet and the 
philosopher and the people who, by keeping 
abreast of the times, have left behind the 
narrowness and injustice of early days, finds 
“‘* Books in running brooks, sermons in stones, 
And good in everything.’ 
“Inhis outings he finds near the summit of 
the barren hilltop the birthplace of sparkling 
springs and’’—— 
But the team was now in the dooryard of 
our farmer friend, and his cheery ‘‘ Good- 
morning and welcome” put a stop to further 
comparison and comment. 
Being told the object of our mission and 
asked how the birds had wintered and what 
the prospect was for the opening day of the 
season, the farmer said: 
“‘Wa-al, there be no quail left. That ar 
last snow in March fixed ’em. Seems as ef 
‘em fellers as buys quails to put out hev 
more money than brains. P’raps they think 
quails roost in trees an’ live on buds same as 
patridges does, but they don’t. An’ one good 
snow that lasts a week cleans ’em all out, 
ev’ry time. But patridges have been drum- 
min’ lots aroun’ here all summer—an’ by 
goll I never see so many timber doodles 
about here afore in forty years, since I 
moved on this place. 
“Bro’t yer old dorg with you, eh? I 
never seed a dorg as knows so much— 
hanged if I did!” 
Being told that his report on the birds 
was most reassuring, and that his remarks 
on stocking the coverts with quail had a 
good deal of horse-sense to recommend 
them, my red Irish setter dog was asked to 
speak his own thanks for the farmer’s words 
of appreciation and praise, which he 
promptly did by loud barking. 
The horse was now in a stall in the stable 
and we took our departure down the lane 
and across the pasture to the “‘sag,’’ so- 
called, a hollow depression of an acre or 
more on a sunny hillside, not far from a 
I21I 
birch and alder run, with occasional small 
pines, fir, balsam and other coniferous and 
deciduous trees. This extensive basin, or 
sag, as it is called, is doubtless a vast 
spring-hole, as a trickling stream meanders 
through the sandy marl of the pasture and 
unites with a brook a little lower down. 
The wash from the surface of the hill for 
unnumbered centuries has enriched the soil 
and given it great fertility. White-birch 
saplings grow high into the air until a grape- 
vine or wild clematis reach out and embrace 
them and pull them over in graceful ellipse 
to the earth, or until they find lodgment in 
the tops of other shrubbery. Rank-growing 
ferns, rhododendrons, laurel and other 
shrubbery grow in riotous profusion and 
make an ideal breeding and rearing-place 
for Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock and their 
interesting family. 
Skirting along the upper side and for a 
distance beyond a stone wall separates the 
pasture from a large field of corn, now well 
tasseled out and completely shading the 
ground. 
Approaching the sag from the pasture 
side, my friend climbed to the top of an 
immense boulder,.some six or seven feet 
high, near the edge of the undergrowth, ard 
which commanded a view over nearly its 
whole extent. 
Keeping Rex in close, I pushed my way 
through five or six feet of dense under- 
growth, when he turned suddenly toward 
my friend and made a staunch point within 
a yard of where I stood. Going as noise- 
lessly as I might, it was impossible for me to 
hear the querulous twitter of the mother 
bird when she rose, but my friend’s voice 
broke the silence with a command to stand 
perfectly still. This was followed by 
another to back out by the very tracks by 
which I had entered, not deviating a foot 
to the right or left, and to bring Rex with 
me. Accomplishing this as best I could, 
Rex persisting in holding his point, I was 
soon again in the opening. 
“There!” said he. ‘“‘ I have seen woodcock 
do many strange things in my day, but this 
is the most erratic of all. You see the black 
alder bush with the red berries beside which 
you stood? Well, the instant you stepped 
beside it, a great big woodcock jumped up, 
sputtering all the protest he or she could 
