It is impossible to retrace one's footsteps, the paths and drives are so intricate, and cross and branch so frequently. There are no landmarks. Perhaps from the rising ground across the valley a view may be obtained. On emerging into the open, the whole herd of deer and fawns move slowly into the forest and disappear. From the hill there is nothing visible but trees. If a tree be climbed to get a look-out, there is still nothing but trees. Following a green drive as a forlorn hope, there comes again the rattling as of clubs and spears, and strange grunting sounds. It is the bucks fighting; and they are not altogether safe to approach. But time is going on; unless we can soon discover the way, we may have to remain till the tawny wood-owls flit round the trees. There comes the tinkle-tinkle of a bell: a search shows two or three cows, one of which, after the fashion of the old time, carries a bell. She comes and butts one playfully, and insists on her poll being rubbed. Then there is more grunting, but of a different kind--this time easily recognised: it is a herd of swine searching for the beechmast and acorns. With them, fortunately, comes the swineherd--a lad, who shows a drive which leads to the nearest edge of the forest. Half an hour after leaving the swineherd, a rabbit is found sitting on his haunches, motionless, with the head drooping on one side. He takes no notice--he is dying. Just beneath one ear is a slight trace of blood--it is the work of a weasel, who fled on hearing approaching footsteps. Soon a film must form over the beautiful eye of the hunted creature: let us in mercy strike him a sharp blow on the head with the heavy end of the walking-stick, and so spare him the prolonged sense of death. A hundred yards further is a gate, and beyond that an arable field. On coming near the gate a hawk glides swiftly downwards over the hedge that there joins the forest. A cloud of sparrows instantly rise from the stubble, and fly chirping in terror to the hedge for shelter; but one is too late, the hawk has him in his talons. Yonder is a row of wheat ricks, the fresh straw with which they have just been covered contrasting with the brown thatch of the farmhouse in the hollow. There a refreshing glass of ale is forthcoming, and the way is pointed out. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE ROOKERY--BUILDING NESTS--YOUNG BIRDS--ROOK-SHOOTING--STEALING ROOKS--ANTICS IN THE AIR--MODE OF FLIGHT--WHITE ROOKS.