It was an ideal autumn morning, calm, with a warm sun shining out of a blue sky, and the rain-washed air marvellously clear. Small birds chirped and twittered in every hedge, but I could see for myself that what Crab had told me was true. There was no game left in the whole country-side. Even rabbits were very scarce. The fields, too, were neglected. They were not half drained, so that the grass was rough, and patchy with clumps of reeds. The hedges were untrimmed, immensely high, and yet full of gaps. The lane running parallel with the river was scored with deep ruts which brimmed with muddy puddles. The tall hedges offered us excellent travelling, and we saw nobody except a couple of farm-labourers striding along through the mud, their corduroy trousers tied below their knees with string, and their short clay pipes leaving a trail of strong-smelling blue smoke in their wake. For half a mile or so we kept the hedge alongside the lane. Then the road turned abruptly away from the river, so we left it, crossed a meadow, and got into another hedge which seemed to lead us in the right direction. It brought us after a time into a large leasowe sloping to the river. This leasowe I remember as one of the most beautiful places which I have ever seen. The ground, dropping sharply, was thickly studded with clumps of alder and hazel, the tops of which had been cut at irregular interval, while the roots had grown to enormous dimensions. Each clump was surrounded by a tangle of blackberry and brier, making a thick, impenetrable shelter. The leaves of these various trees were all in the full splendour of late autumn tints, and contrasted brilliantly with the green of the grass and the myriads of scarlet hips and haws; while there were dotted about the leasowe a number of crab-apple trees whose scarlet leaves and red and golden fruit gave a last touch of gorgeous colouring to the whole scene. There were a good many nuts, and we crossed leisurely from clump to clump, now stopping to shell a nut, now to sample the crimson side of a crab apple. I was tasting some over-ripe blackberries, many of which contained the most delicious little white grubs, when Crab suggested that it was time to push on, as we still had a long way to go, and the shadows were almost at their shortest. Between us and the far hedge was a widish interval of fairly open grass, bounded on the upper side by a regular thicket of hazel. As we crossed this open space Crab suddenly drew my attention to a very odd-looking erection which stood in a sort of bay in the hazel-brush. I had never seen anything quite like it before, and, our curiosity thoroughly aroused, we moved slowly and cautiously towards it. ‘’Pon my claws, I believe it’s a pheasant coop,’ I said at last. ‘There are no pheasants here,’ replied Crab. ‘Besides, it’s got no sides.’