In the West Countree.
“Derry down, derry down, derry down!”
A cheery voice rolling out the chorus of an old west-country ditty.
Then there was a run of a few yards, a sudden stoppage, and a round, red missile was thrown with considerable force after a blackcock, which rose on whirring wings from among the heather, his violet-black plumage glistening in the autumn sun, as he skimmed over the moor, and disappeared down the side of a...
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