You may talk, Miss Landis; woodcock don't flush at the sound of the human voice as grouse do." "See his brown eyes roll back at us! He wonders why we don't do something!" whispered the girl.

"Look, Mr.Siward! Now his head is moving--oh so gradually to the left!" "The bird is moving on the ground," nodded Siward; "now the bird has stopped." "I do wish I could see a woodcock on the ground," she breathed.

"Do you think we might by any chance ?" Siward noiselessly sank to his knees and crouched, keen eyes minutely busy among the shadowy browns and greys of wet earth and withered leaf.
And after a while, cautiously, he signalled the girl to kneel beside him, and stretched out one arm, forefinger extended.
"Sight straight along my arm," he said, "as though it were a rifle barrel." Her soft cheek rested against his shoulder; a stray strand of shining hair brushing his face.
"Under that bunch of fern," he whispered; "just the colour of the dead leaves.

Do you see?
...

Don't you see that big woodcock squatted flat, bill pointed straight out and resting on the leaves ?" After a long while she saw, suddenly, and an exquisite little shock tightened her fingers on Siward's extended arm.
"Oh, the feathered miracle!" she whispered; "the wonder of its cleverness to hide like that! You look and look and stare, seeing it all the while and not knowing that you see it.