154 ‘COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
friend. ‘The birds fly within a quarter of a mile of 
the shore when rounding the Gurnet.’ 
““As I looked I caught a glimpse of flashing wings. 
‘They are flying there now,’ said I pointing to a bunch 
of a dozen coot that, headed southward, were flying 
swiftly over the water. 
‘““‘Here comes another bunch,’ cried my friend. 
“Tt was true. A big flight was on. It was rather 
late in the afternoon but we watched them pass until 
sundown. Flock after flock followed each other and 
all old birds. Thousand of coot went by Gurnet Head 
that afternoon. It was the biggest flight in my coot- 
shooting experience. ”’ 
‘‘Well, that seems to me merely a coincidence,’’ re- 
marked the blonde gentleman. ‘‘ What happened?”’ 
‘“‘What happened? Well, at four o’clock the next 
morning I was awakened by the house trembling in the 
grasp of an early equinoctial gale. Buckets of rain were 
dashing against the windows. It was the beginning of 
a three-days storm.”’ 
‘“You have a good strong argument,’’ said the blonde 
gentleman, ‘‘for your side of the question so far as coot 
flying before a storm is concerned, but what reason can 
you have for believing that coot can scent a coming 
storm twenty-four hours in advance?” 
‘“‘T look at it in this way,’’ replied George. ‘‘The 
coot that passed Gurnet Head the day before were the 
first flight from the North. They were old birds that 
start south as soon as the duties of the breeding season 
are finished. In pleasant weather they dawdle slowly 
along the sea line of northern New England, in scat- 
tered flocks, just enjoying themselves. The storm was 
general all along the coast. Each flock in many thou- 
sand different places scented the coming storm and, 
