140 FEATHERED GAME 



wings he pitches headlong downward, almost 

 perpendicularly to the ground. Surely he must 

 be dashed in pieces on the earth — but no, — a 

 bending of his body, a sudden spreading of his 

 wings when only a foot from the ground and he 

 alights upon his feet as gently as ever thistle- 

 down rested upon the summer sea. A wary 

 glance about him, and satisfied that all is well, 

 he begins feeding. 



Now after him! Across the narrow creek 

 with its slippery, shaky edges, and the 

 brown water hurrying seaward with the fall- 

 ing tide. Carefully, now! It is deep here. 

 The pointer plunges in and with half a dozen 

 rapid strokes gains the other side. Bal- 

 ancing on grassy hummocks which quiver be- 

 neath your tread you follow him. Fifty yards 

 ahead there is a small ''pond-hole," margined 

 about with black mud and short, red-topped 

 grass, and this, you are sure, is his journey's 

 end. The dog is well in advance, going along 

 with a springy, slashing stride, but he pulls 

 up short, almost "turning a handspring" in his 

 sudden stand. You approach and wait, with 

 nerves a-tingle, for the bird to flush, then order 

 your dog on, only to find that he will not move. 



