"What you been after, Will?"
"Helpin' Wilson."
Wilson was a neighbouring keeper, who in June and July, before the young pheasants were returned to the woods, occasionally employed Will Brand as a watcher, especially at night.
Brand made no reply. His wife brought in the tea, and he and Will helped themselves greedily. Presently Will said abruptly:
"A've made that owd gun work all right."
"Aye?" Brand's tone was interrogative, but listless.
"I shot a kestrel an' a stoat wi' un this morning."
"Yo'did, eh?"
Will nodded, his mouth crammed with bread and butter, strange lights and flickering expressions playing over his starved, bony face.
"Wilson says I'm gettin' a varra fair shot."