100 STORIES FROM DAUDET

the legs of the sportsman with the
moustaches,

The fact was the poor man was so
hampered with all his hunting equip-
ment, and so taken up with admiring
himself from top to toe, that by the
time he got his gun to his shoulder we
were already out of range. Ah, if
sportsmen only knew, when they fancy
they are quite alone in some corner of
the woods, how many little strained
eyes are watching them from the thicket,
and how many little pointed beaks are
keeping back a laugh at their stupidity!

Still we went on, farther, farther.
Having nothing better to do than to
follow my old companion, my wings
beat with the wind of his, to fall
motionless again when he stopped. I
still recall all the places we passed, the
moor rosy with heather, full of burrows
at the foot of the yellow trees, that
great curtain of chestnuts, which seemed
to me everywhere to conceal some
dying thing, the little green alley where