They keep outside the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the pheasant coverts.

But with ferret, dog, and gun, and now and then a partridge net along the edge of the standing barley, they excel.

So, too, with the wire; and the broad open Downs are their happy hunting grounds, especially in misty weather.
This is the village of the apple-bloom, the loveliest spot imaginable.
After all, they are not such desperately bad fellows if you deduct their sins against the game laws.

They are a jovial lot, and free with their money; they stand by one another--a great virtue in these cold-blooded days.

If one gets in trouble with the law the rest subscribe the fine.
They are full of knowledge of a certain sort, and you may learn anything, from the best way to hang a dog upwards.
When we reach the inn, and Dickon calls for the brown brandy, there in the bar sits a gamekeeper, whose rubicund countenance beams with good humour.