t estate and
mansion adjacent. Old Hilary Luckett--though familiarly called 'old,'
he is physically in the prime of life--is probably about the most
independent man in the county. Yet he is on terms of more than
goodwill with the great house, and rents one of the largest farms on
the estate, somewhere between six and seven hundred acres. He has the
right of shooting, and in the course of years privilege after
privilege has been granted, till Hilary is now as free of the warren
as the owner of the charter himself. If you should be visiting
Okebourne Chace, and any question should arise whether of horses, dog,
or gun, you are sure to be referred to Hilary. Hilary knows all about
it: he is the authority thereabout on all matters concerning game. Is
it proposed to plant fresh covers? Hilary's opinion is asked. Is it
proposed to thin out some of the older trees; what does Hilary say?

It is a fact that people really believe no part of a partridge is ever
taken away after being set before him. Neither bones nor sinews
remain: so fond is he of the brown bird. Having eaten the breast, and
the juicy leg and the delicate wing, he next proceeds to suck the
bones; for game to be thoroughly enjoyed should be eaten like a
mince-pie, in the fingers. There is always one bone with a sweeter
flavour than the rest, just at the joint or fracture: it varies in
every bird according to the chance of the cooking, but, having
discovered it, put it aside for further and more strict attention.
Presently he begins to grind up the bones in his strong teeth,
commencing with the smallest. His teeth are not now so powerful as
when in younger days he used to lift a sack of wheat with them, or the
full milking-bucket up to the level of the copper in the dairy. Still
they gradually reduce the slender skeleton. The feat is not so
difficult if the bird has been well hung.

He has the right to shoot, and need take no precautions. But, in fact,
a farmer, whether he has liberty or not, can usually amuse himself
occasionally in that way. If his labourer sees him quietly slipping up
beside the hedge with his double-barrel towards the copse in the
corner where a pheasant has been heard several times lately, the
labourer watches him with delight, and says nothing. Should anyone in
authority ask where that gun went off, the labourer 'thenks it wur th'
birdkippur up in th' Dree Vurlong, you.' Presently the pheasant hangs
in the farmer's cellar, his long tail swee