As for 'Splatchett's,' that don't hurt we, my lady; it is all arable land and dead hedges, with no bottom; only there's one little tongue of it runs into North Wood, and planted with larch; and, if you please, my lady, there is always a kind of coarse grass grows under young larches, and makes a strong cover for game.

So, beat North Wood which way you will, them artful old cocks will run ahead of ye, or double back into them larches.

And you see Mr.Bassett is not a gentleman, like Sir Charles; he is always a-mouching about, and the biggest poacher in the parish; and so he drops on to 'em out of bounds." "Is there no way of stopping all this, sir ?" "We might station a dozen beaters ahead.

They would most likely get shot; but I don't think as they'd mind that much if you had set your heart on it, my lady.

Dall'd if I would, for one." "Oh, Mr.Moss! Heaven forbid that any man should be shot for me.