Walking home through the woods on the evening of an October First, we
came to a standstill before a low tree-branch on which an old cock
pheasant was going to roost. We were within a yard of him; yet he
sat stock-still, and stared at us fearlessly with unblinking eyes.
The minutes passed, and after we had stood there for some little
time, staring back at the old pheasant, it really seemed that we had
established a bond of communication. And this is what we understood the
old cock to be saying:
"Here I am, you see, and not afraid of you; and none the worse for an
opening day that has been, I must admit, a trifle lively. And I may
inform you that before I went to roost I made careful inquiries among
my very numerous progeny, and not one is a feather the worse for all
the banging that has been going on. All are in good condition, in
fine plumage, and strong on the wing as usual, and, I may add, on the
leg. By the way, I myself, in the course of the day, from a secure
retreat, watched more than one sportsman critically examining the
bodies of several unfortunate birds--needless to say, there was no son
or daughter of mine among them. _Good_ night."
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