From the young days of the year, when his hens began to lay once more,
the keeper adds eggs to his store for the sake of the birds of May.
His cares and worries, his long hours and weary trudgings, and the
chances and changes of the weather make the keeper grumble more and
more with the years; but he is always a devoted slave to sport, and
takes pleasure in each act of preparation for a new season. Every time
he adds to the store of feeding eggs he is thinking of the prospects
of his pheasants. He sees chicks turning to awkward poults, and poults
turning to full-feathered birds, topping the lofty trees or sailing
high over the valley, while the guns are coughing below. Over his store
of eggs for feeding he gloats like a miser over gold. Stowed away in a
cool place these eggs--after each one has been dipped for about thirty
seconds in boiling water--will keep their good feeding qualities for
months.
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