WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
of a fir-tree : together they raked over all the 
secret feeding-grounds which had hitherto 
belonged to the Pheasant alone. In the peace 
of the woods, and the new companionship, the 
spirit of the old jungle-fowl which slept in the 
Pullet awoke. She followed Creaban down 
shady runways, and into depths of covert where 
she would never have dared to venture alone. 
The sun filtered through the leaves, and turned 
Creaban's feathers to gold. He was altogether 
splendid gorgeous to look upon and he be- 
longed to the woods. The Yellow Pullet forgot 
about the yard, about the Cock, about men. 
For three sweet hours of that September day 
she was as verily a thing of the woods as 
Creaban himself. 
Nevertheless it was the Pheasant with his 
superior woodland training who first heard a 
stick threshing the bushes at the bottom of the 
wood. Now although Creaban had never yet 
heard the tap of a beater's cudgel he was nervous 
after his adventures of the morning ; and as the 
ominous noise of twigs smashing grew nearer, 
he ran a few steps up the wood, and then hesi- 
tated. It was against his principles to take 
wing as long as he could lie safely in deep covert. 
The noise came nearer trampling, crackling, 
shouts of " Hi cock ! " Creaban lost his head 
and began to run hither and thither uncertainly. 
184 
