THE PHEASANT 
scant scope to show itself, and he had as little 
experience of wood lore as his barn-door foster- 
mother so he stalked inquisitively towards 
the sound. 
All at once he came full upon a fowl who was 
standing expectantly, hidden up to her bill by 
the long dry wood grass. Creaban was no 
stranger to poultry. The first thing which 
he had known in life was the touch of a hen's 
feathers ; and, as he had fed alone for so many 
days, he gladly welcomed this Pullet's com- 
panionship. She was an ochre-coloured bird, 
with a small comb and a draggled tail. Her 
spine was curved like that of a partridge, and she 
ran through the bushes as nimbly as Gurra-gunt 
the Corncrake, or as Creaban himself. As 
Creaban followed her, she was shy, and tripped 
away from him ; but presently, when he stopped 
to scrape for pignuts in a clearing, she ventured 
to creep up to pick at the insect-trifles which he 
unearthed. At first 
they were both 
somewhat uncertain 
of one another 
perhaps Creaban 
had forgotten the 
barn-yard dialect of 
his foster-mother, and failed to make her 
understand him ; but they were kinsfolk, 
173 
