64 THE BIRD WATCHER 
were, and to have@@#hem running after one, with 
uncouth hissings and with their heads held down, yet 
scooping up and wagged from side to side at one— 
and with that insane eye—made one think all sorts 
of odd things. Well, they are gone, nor are they the 
only ones that are. When I first, by necessity, came 
to live at Cheltenham, the ducks in the Pittville 
Gardens were a great consolation to me. There was 
quite a fleet of them, a gay little flotilla of all kinds 
and colours, and at the smallest hint of bread, on 
one side of the lake, they would all come flying over 
from the other; and then it was the sport to feed 
them. How diverting that was! Being in such 
numbers, one took notice of all the little differences 
in their dispositions, the different degrees of boldness 
or retiringness, of pugnacity, greediness, aggressive- 
ness, pertness, impudence, swagger, imperialism, and 
so on, all of which one could bring out, in some 
amusing way or another, by the varied and nicely- 
schemed throwing of the bread. To contrive that 
a timid bird should always get it, whilst a boldly 
greedy one pursued in vain, that two should contend 
for a large piece, to the end that a third might swim 
securely away with it, to tempt some to walk on thin 
ice till it broke, and others to make little canals 
through it, each from a different place, each struggling 
to be first, to have one bird feeding from the hand, 
whilst a crowd stood round, looking enviously on, 
to see greed just drag on fear, or fear just drive back 
greed, or the two so nicely balanced that they pro- 
