After about twenty-four days the eggs hatch, and the little chicks are taken with the hens to coops placed in readiness in the rearing-field; a place so jealously guarded by the keeper as to be in his eyes sacred land. Four or five times daily the chicks must be fed--at first on eggs, to which is added later a mixture of biscuit-meal, rice, greaves, and small bird-seed, until boiled corn becomes the staple food. Every night the chicks must be shut carefully into their coops--a long and tiresome task. The danger of enteritis looms up--ten thousand chicks may be swept off in a week. When five or six weeks old, chicks, hens, and coops are carted away in waggons to the woods, where the chicks must face the dangers of vermin by night as well as by day until they learn to go to roost. * * * * * From Egg to Larder For the keeper the days and nights spent in his rearing-fields pass in incessant anxiety. He never counts his pheasants before they are hatched. He may count them as morsels of fluff; when they begin to use their babyish wings; again when they fill the broad ride with a mass of seething brown--but not until the bracken is dead, and the trees are naked, and the game-cart has borne away its burden, does he count them as his own. Nor does his anxiety cease until the long tails hang safely in his larder. * * * * * Fine Eggs and Good Mothers "They be a good lot of eggs," the keeper will inform you as he reveals his store, ready to be given to the quickening warmth of broody fowls. "I don't know as ever I set eyes on better," he will add, "and I don't expect you have neither." If you denied this he would not believe you. His pheasants' eggs are like the apple blossoms: each year more beautiful than ever. And the more plentiful the more beautiful. Noting the keeper, as he goes out in search of broody hens, you might mistake him for a dealer in rags and bones. He tramps all round the countryside with an old sack slung over his back--one of the light, thin kind in which dog-biscuits come; or sometimes he drives in a gig, and poultry-farmers welcome him gladly. He pays half a crown or three shillings for each hen in broody mood, and so helps to make poultry pay. His difficulty is to find broody hens at the time when he most needs them. The ideal is a healthy bird, not one with pallid comb or inclined to mope; she must be of medium size and of light weight, with short legs, small feet, and a wealth of downy feathers. Above all, she must be quiet in demeanour. The fidgety, fussy hen may have excellent intentions, but is likely to cause disaster to her eggs and chicks. A big hen with the sprawliest feet, but of gentle disposition, and slow to anger, will often prove a better foster-mother than one a model in form, feather, and feet, but in temperament a spitfire. * * * * * The Cub-stealing Shepherd