He still deserves it.

In twenty strides he left me behind.

I saw him jumping over the heather, knocking off with his cane the young shoots on the oaks, or turning his head to look at me as I struggled after, torn by brambles and pricked by gorse.
A startled pheasant brought him to a halt.

The bird rose under his feet and soared into the full light.
"Isn't it beautiful ?" said he.

"Look out, we must be more careful; we are scaring the game.