I'll take your word for it."

This remark provoked a second and deeper growl from the landlord and a
further burst of outlandish laughter from my acquaintance, the
game-keeper. Presently:

"Why, sir, if I tell you," declared the latter, "them birds all know
me like I was their father, they do. I says, 'Good morning' regular
and them birds all bows to me, they does."

When the laughter had subsided, scenting possible information:

"I gather," said I, "that you get few shooting-parties nowadays?"

Gloom descended upon both my gossips.

"You're right, you are, sir," replied the game-keeper. "He's right,
ain't he, Martin?"

Martin, the landlord, growled. It occurred to me that he regarded the
other with a certain disfavor.

"This 'ere country," continued the game-keeper, vaguely waving his arm
around, "is a blighted spot. A blighted spot, ain't it, Martin?"

Martin growled, whilst the game-keeper studied him covertly.

"Since Sir Burnham went to his long rest these 'ere parts ain't knowed
themselves. I'm tellin' you, sir. Ain't knowed 'emselves. It's all
that quiet, winter and summer alike. The Park all shut up; and the