THE PHEASANT 
Yellow Pullet and yet she had learnt the lore 
of neither perfectly. Therefore she clucked, 
and ran across the glade straight to where the 
fox crouched waiting. . . . 
A flutter a strangled scream the pattering 
gallop of pads through the thicket, and the 
clearing was empty but for a feather with 
a crimson shaft. The Yellow Pullet had her 
wish. She went to the deep of the woods. 
205 
