It was full of nut-tree bushes, very tall and thick at the top, but lower down thin, as is usually the case when poles grow high.

To fill the space a fence had been made of stakes and bushes woven between them, and on this the pheasant stood.
It was too far for a safe shot; in a minute he went down into the meadow on the other side.

I then crept on hands and knees towards the nut-bushes: as I got nearer there was a slight rustle and a low hiss in the grass, and I had to pause while a snake went by hastening for the ditch.

A few moments afterwards, being close to the hedge, I rose partly up, and looked carefully over the fence between the hazel wands.

There was the pheasant not fifteen yards away, his back somewhat towards me, and quietly questing about.
In lifting the gun I had to push aside a bough--the empty hoods, from which a bunch of brown nuts had fallen, rested against the barrel as I looked along it.