THE PHEASANT 
slipped downwards with a scream. But instead 
of the crack of the gun, loud laughter rose. 
The levelled gun was lowered. 
" Is it yer mother's hins ye're afther showin' 
us, Pat ? " jeered the men. 
To the sound of mocking laughter the Pullet 
crashed back to earth ignominiously. But even 
as she reached it, through her shame and be- 
musement, she heard another sound the clean 
boom and whirr of a rising cock-pheasant. 
" Mind out now" . . . "Aim wesht, Pat" 
..." Hooroosh ! " The Yellow Pullet 
felt Creaban's whirring shadow eclipse the sun 
above her then she heard the futile report of 
the gun, fired flurriedly as the guffaw was 
choked on the marksman's lips. But the swoop 
and whistle of Creaban's wings had died safely 
away before the echo of the shot ceased to ring 
through the wood. 
IV 
That night they clipped the Yellow Pullet's 
wings. She did not scream but only blinked 
stupidly at the sunset while her quills fluttered 
on to the straw. Afterwards when she ran 
across the yard, the other hens, who hated her, 
realized that something was amiss, and after 
the fiendish fashion of their kind were all agog 
.8 7 
