Arthur Conan Doyle,
Sir Nigel — Chapter VIII
(1906)
“ The varlets beat the heather and bushes as they passed, and whooped loudly as the birds flew out."A magpie! A magpie!" cried the falconer."Nay, nay, it is not worthy of your talons, my brown-eyed queen," said the King, looking up at the great bird which flapped from side to side above his head, waiting for the whistle which should give her the signal. "The tercels, falconer—a cast of tercels! Quick, man, quick! Ha! the rascal makes for wood! He puts in! Well flown, brave peregrine! He makes his point. Drive him out to thy comrade. Serve him, varlets! Beat the bushes! He breaks! He breaks! ”
