CHAPTER XII.
THE SQUIRE'S 'ROUND ROBIN A cock pheasant flies in frantic haste across the road, beating the air with wide-stretched wings, and fast as he goes, puts on yet a faster spurt as the shot comes rattling up through the boughs of the oak beneath him.
The ground is, however, unfavourable to the sportsman, and the bird escapes.

The fir copse from which the pheasant rose covers a rather sharp descent on one side of the highway.

On the level above are the ploughed fields, but the slope itself is too abrupt for agricultural operations, and the soil perhaps thin and worthless.

It is therefore occupied by a small plantation.

On the opposite side of the road there grows a fine row of oaks in a hedge, under whose shade the dust takes long to dry when once damped by a shower.