next Derby, and whether Scott's lot
was not the right thing to stand on for the St. Leger, thereby
raising himself considerably in his host's eyes. There were no
hunters in the stable, at which Tom expressed his surprise. In
reply, Mr. Wurley abused the country, and declared that it was
not worth riding across, the fact being that he had lost his
nerve, and that the reception which he was beginning to meet with
in the field, if he came out by chance, was of the coldest.

From the stables they strolled to the keeper's cottage, where Mr.
Wurley called for some buckwheat and Indian corn, and began
feeding the young pheasants, which were running about, almost
like barn-door fowls, close to them.

"We've had a good season for the young birds," he said; "my
fellow knows that part of his business, d--n him, and don't lose
many. You had better bring your gun over in October; we shall
have a week in the covers early in the month."

"Thank you, I shall be very glad," said Tom; "but you don't shoot
these birds?"

"Shoot 'em! what the devil should I do with 'em?"

"Why, they're so tame I thought you just kept them about the
house for breeding. I don't care so much for pheasant shooting; I
like a good walk after a snipe, or creeping along to get a wild
duck much better. There's some sport in it, or even in partridge
shooting with a couple of good dogs, now--"

"You're quite wrong. There's nothing like a good dry ride in a
cover with lots of game, and a fellow behind to load for you."

"Well, I must say, I prefer the open."

"You've no covers over your way, have you?"

"Not many."

"I thought so. You wait till you've had a good day in my covers,
and you won't care for quartering all day over wet turnips.
Besides, this sort of thing pays. They talk about pheasants
costing a guinea a head on one's table. It's all stuff; at any
rate, mine don't cost _me_ much. In fact, I say it pays, and I
can prove it."

"But you feed your pheasants?"

"Yes, just round the house for a few weeks, and I sow a little
buckwheat in the covers. But they have to keep themselves pretty
much, I can tell you."

"Don't the farmers object?"

"Yes, d-n them; they're never satisfied. But they don't grumble
to me; they know better. There are a dozen fellows ready to take
any farm that's given up, and they know it. Just get a beggar to
put a hundred or two into the ground, and he won't quit hold in a
hurry. Will you play a game at billiards?"

T