450 



BIRD-LIFE OF THE BORDERS 



thick of them. Mark! three — five — six — seven — eight — 

 fall all round us ; fall in curving lines, each with a sousing 

 "flop" into the sea, while at least two more slant away, 

 body-struck, to fall dead a little farther out. It was a 

 glorious shot for a tipped one ; but there is no time to revel 

 in the triumph of the moment, for only one of our geese lies 

 actually dead, and "clear decks for the cripple-chase" is 

 the order of the day. Then for a long- half-hour we pole 

 and shove, as no galley-slave ever toiled before ; we toil till 

 perspiration half blinds us, banging away the while with 

 the cripple-stopper till all our " pensioners " lie stretched and 

 prostrate on the sea. Then, with joyous hearts and a full 

 fore-peak, we set our sprit-sail, our centre-boards, and spin 

 away homeward with wind and tide at eight knots through 

 the gloaming, delighted with the final success of our 

 eighteen hours' toil, and its reward in the best shot of 



THE SEASON. 



A Pensioner. 



