ld, they
suddenly start as it seems from under your feet--one white tail goes
dapping up and down this way, another jerks over the 'lands' that way.
The moonbeams now glisten on the double-barrel; and a bright sparkle
glitters here and there as a dewdrop catches a ray.

Upon the grass a faint halo appears; it is a narrow band of light
encircling the path, an oval ring--perhaps rather horseshoe shape than
oval. It glides in front, keeping ever at the same distance as you walk,
as if there the eye was focussed. This is only seen when the grass is
wet with dew, and better in short grass than long. Where it shines the
grass looks a paler green. Passing gently along a hedge thickly timbered
with oak and elms, a hawk may perhaps start forth: hawks sometimes
linger by the hedges till late, but it is not often that you can shoot
one at roost except in spring. Then they invariably return to roost in
the nest tree, and are watched there, and so shot, a gunner approaching
on each side of the hedge. In the lane dark objects--rabbits--hasten
away, and presently the footpath crosses the still motionless brook near
where it flows into the mere.

The low brick parapet of the bridge is overgrown with mosses; great
hedges grow each side, and the willows, long uncut, almost meet in the
centre. In one hedge an opening leads to a drinking-place for cattle:
peering noiselessly over the parapet between the boughs, the coots and
moorhens may be seen there feeding by the shore. They have come up from
the mere as the ducks and teal do in the winter. The broader waters can
scarcely be netted without a boat, but the brook here is the very place
for a moonlight haul. The net is stretched first across the widest spot
nearest to the pool, that no fish may escape. They swim up here in the
daytime in shoals, perch especially; but the night poachers are often
disappointed, for the fish seem to retire to deeper waters as the
darkness comes on. A black mass of mud-coated sticks, rotten twigs, and
thorn bushes, entangled in the meshes, is often the only result of much
toil.

Once now and then, as when a preserved pond is netted, a tremendous take
occurs; but nets are rather gone by, being so unwieldy and requiring
several men to manage effectually. If they are not hung out to dry
properly after being used, they soon rot. Now, a large net stretched
along railings or a hedge is rather a conspicuous object, and brings
suspicion on the owner. It is also so