It is amusing to see the keepers when they suspect poachers are in their woods.  When the leaves are off they can see at a great distance, and with their keen, trained eyes make out quite well when a moving object is a hare, or a roebuck, or a person on all fours, creeping stealthily along.  They have powerful glasses, too, which help them very much.  They, too, have their various tricks, like the poachers.  As the gun-barrel is seen at a great distance when the sun strikes it, they cover it with a green stuff that takes the general tint of the leaves and the woods, and post themselves, half hidden in the bushes, near some of the quarries, where the poachers generally come.  Then they give a gun to an under-strapper, telling him to stand in some prominent part of the woods, his gun well in sight.  That, of course, the poachers see at once, so they make straight for the other side, and often fall upon the keepers who are lying in wait for them.  As a general rule, they don’t make much resistance, as they know the keepers will shoot—­not to kill them, but a shot in the ankle or leg that will disable them for some time.  I had rather a weakness for one poaching family.  The man was young, good-looking, and I don’t really believe a bad lot, but he had been unfortunate, had naturally a high temper, and couldn’t stand being howled at and sworn at when things didn’t go exactly as the patron wanted; consequently he never stayed in any place, tried to get some other work, but was only fit for the woods, where he knew every tree and root and the habits and haunts of all the animals.  He had a pretty young wife and two children, who had also lived in the woods all their lives, and could do nothing else.  The wife came to see me one day to ask for some clothes for herself and the children, which I gave, of course, and then tried mildly to speak to her about her husband, who spent half his time in prison, and was so sullen and scowling when he came out that everybody gave him a wide berth.  The poor thing burst into a passion of tears and incoherent defence of her husband.  Everybody had been so hard with him.  When he had done his best, been up all night looking after the game, and then was rated and sworn at by his master before every one because un des Parisiens didn’t know what to do with a gun when he had one in his hand, and couldn’t shoot a hare that came and sat down in front of him, it was impossible not to answer un peu vivement peut-etre, and it was hard to be discharged at once without a chance of finding anything else, etc., and at last winding up with the admission that he did take hares and rabbits occasionally; but when there was nothing to eat in the house and the children were crying with hunger, what was he to do?  Madame would never have known or missed the rabbits, and after all, le Bon Dieu made them for everybody.  I tried to persuade W. to take him as a workman in the woods, with the hope of getting back as under-keeper, but