Such are the highly-bred and intelligent animals which are eagerly waiting for us to-day—­Di, with her white coat, soft as wavy silk, her chestnut ears and one spot on the back alone marring its snowy purity; Sancho, jet black, with “featherings” like a King Charles spaniel.  They are over the fence already, and tearing about the field so recklessly in the exuberance of their joy that they must certainly startle any game which may be there.  The timid little field-buntings glide away on silent wing through the grass; the meadow-larks rise with gentle flappings and sail off with that easy flight so tempting to very young wing-shots; now and then a flock of doves whistle off too far for a certain shot, and clouds of crow-blackbirds rise with hoarse chirps and seek less public feeding-grounds; a rabbit dashes off from a brier-patch and both dogs rush pell-mell at his heels, but a single note from the whistle brings them to a sudden halt and makes them look thoroughly ashamed of themselves.  Off they go again, as wild as deer; but suddenly Di’s whole action changes:  crouching to the ground and beating her sides rapidly with her tail, she runs hither and thither, snuffing eagerly in the grass.  Now Sancho comes up and catches the cold trail, for a covey has certainly been in that place to-day.  Most probably they rose from the spot, frightened by the swoop of a hawk, and made for the nearest cover, for the dogs can do nothing with the scent.  But that little whiff of the exciting effluvia has brought them down to their work, and a beautiful sight it is as they quarter the ground with quickly-beating tails and noses high in the air, crossing and recrossing the wind in zigzag lines and concentric circles, hunting the ground so closely that no trail, however cold, can escape their keen sense of smell.  A wave of the hand to Sancho, and the sagacious fellow is off toward the far corner of the field, when suddenly Di stops in mid-career with a jerk that must try every sinew in her frame.  The birds are right under her nose, and she dares not move a muscle, but stands as if changed into stone, her eyes starting with excitement, her nostrils expanded, her feathery stern quivering stiffly out behind and every line of her figure standing out like whipcord.  “Toho!” The black dog catches the sound and turns his head:  he sees her rigid form, and backs her where he stands as firmly as if he too had the scent.  There is no hurry, for the dogs are true as steel and will stand there as long as the frightened birds lie, while the latter, obedient to the instinct of sudden terror, will cower where they are for an hour, with their heads drawn back, their mottled breasts pressed to the earth and their legs gathered under them, ready to spring into the air.  We cock our guns, agree to shoot respectively at the birds which go right or left or straight before us, and then advance to flush the covey ourselves.  The staunch dog never winces as we pass her:  two paces, three, a sudden rush and whirr as of many