he season, that have
escaped from the keepers or poachers.

If the keeper sees one he tries to catch it; failing that, he puts a
charge of shot into it. Some keepers think nothing of shooting their own
ferrets if they will not come when called by the chirrup with the lips,
or displease them in other ways. They do not care, because they can have
as many as they like. Little John made pets of his: they obeyed him very
well as a rule.

Poaching men are sometimes charged with stealing ferrets, _i.e._ with
picking up and carrying off those that keepers have lost. A ferret is,
however, a difficult thing to identify and swear to.

Those who go poaching with ferrets choose a moonlight night: if it is
dark it is difficult to find the holes. Small buries are best because so
much more easily managed, and the ferret is usually lined. If a large
bury is attempted, they take the first half-dozen that bolt and then
move on to another. The first rabbits come out rapidly; the rest linger
as if warned by the fate of their companions. Instead of wasting time
over them it is best to move to another place.

Unless a keeper should chance to pass up the hedgerow there is
comparatively little risk, for the men are in the ditch and invisible
ten yards away under the bushes and make no noise. It is more difficult
to get home with the game: but it is managed. Very small buries with not
more than four or five holes may be ferreted even on the darkest nights
by carefully observing beforehand where the holes are situate.

CHAPTER XII

A WINTER NIGHT: OLD TRICKS: PHEASANT-STALKING: MATCHLOCK _versus_
BREECH-LOADER: CONCLUSION

When the moon is full and nearly at the zenith it seems to move so
slowly that the shadows scarcely change their position. In winter, when
the branches are bare, a light that is nearly vertical over a tree can
cast but little shadow, and that falls immediately around the trunk. So
that the smallness of the shadow itself and the slowness of its motion
together tend to conceal it.

The snow on the ground increases the sense of light, and in approaching
the wood the scene is even more distinct than during the gloomy day. The
tips of the short stubble that has not yet been ploughed in places just
protrude above the surface, and the snow, frozen hard, crunches with a
low sound under foot. But for that all is perfectly still. The level
upland cornfields stretch away white and vacant to the hills--white,
too, a