him too much of keen enjoyment to see him cut down in swift
flight. In the moment that the master's back was turned I hurled
a knot at the tangle of brakes. The grouse burst away, and Old
Ben, shaken out of his trance by the whirr of wings, dropped
obediently to the charge and turned his head to say reproachfully
with his eyes: "What in the world is the matter with you back
there--didn't I hold him long enough?"

The noble old fellow was trembling like a leaf after the long
strain when I went up to him to pat his head and praise his
steadiness, and share with him the better half of my lunch. But
to this day Ben's master does not know what started the grouse so
suddenly; and as he tells you about the incident will still say
regretfully: "I ought to a-started jest a minute sooner, 'fore he
got tired. Then I'd a had 'im."

The old beech partridge, however, was a bird of a different mind.
No dog ever stood him for more than a second; he had learned too
well what the thing meant. The moment he heard the patter of a
dog's feet on leaves he would run rapidly, and skulk and hide and
run again, keeping dog and hunter on the move till he found the
cover he wanted,--thick trees, or a tangle of wild
grapevines,--when he would burst out on, the farther side. And no
eye, however keen, could catch more than a glimpse of a gray tail
before he was gone. Other grouse make short straight flights, and
can be followed and found again; but he always drove away on
strong wings for an incredible distance, and swerved far to right
or left; so that it was a waste of time to follow him up. Before
you found him he had rested his wings and was ready for another
flight; and when you did find him he would shoot away like an