When it was almost upon the coppice it fired, then fixed bayonets.
Suddenly the coppice blazed, a well-directed and fatal volley.
The Welsh call it “pen y llwyn,” the head or master of the coppice.
Almost every afternoon they would enter the coppice, and walk as far as the log.
Turkeys run into the coppice, and pheasants whirr up from the path.
Near the edge of the ...