The most cruel of all things this snow and frost, because of the torture
of hunger which the birds must feel even in their sleep. But how
beautiful the round full moon, the brilliant light, the white landscape,
the graceful lines of the pine brought out by the snow, the hills
yonder, and the stars rising above them!
It was on just such a night as this that some years since a most
successful raid was made upon this wood by a band of poachers coming
from a distance. The pheasants had been kept later than usual to be shot
by a Christmas party, and perhaps this had caused a relaxation of
vigilance. The band came in a cart of some kind; the marks of the wheels
were found on the snow where it had been driven off the highway and
across a field to some ricks. There, no doubt, the horse and cart were
kept out of sight behind the ricks, while the men, who were believed to
have worn smock-frocks, entered the wood.
The bright moonlight made it easy to find the pheasants, and they were
potted in plenty. Finding that there was no opposition, the gang crossed
from the wood to some outlying plantations and continued their work
there. The keeper never heard a sound. He was an old man--a man who had
been on the estate all his life--and had come in late in the evening
after a long round. He sat by the fire of split logs and enjoyed the
warmth after the bitter cold and frost; and, as he himself confessed,
took an extra glass in consideration of the severity of the weather.
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