WILSON S SNIPE 143 



of life there is little room for doubt that you 

 will, for at any season the Snipe is tender and 

 of good flavor. 



And so the sportsman tramps cheerily across 

 his mucky pleasure-ground, his eyes alight with 

 a soul-satisfying content as his dog careers 

 about in graceful quartering, head high and 

 tail a-switching. No fear that he will pass a 

 single twister — not he! Oho! Another one! 

 Mark that sudden swerve up-wind — those quiv- 

 ering nostrils as he ''snuffs the tainted gale." 

 And now, like the work of some grand sculp- 

 tor, he stands motionless in the open sunlight, 

 beauty and life in every line and curve, his 

 muscles tense and rigid, awaiting his master's 

 coming. No less eager than his dog, and hast- 

 ening as fast as hip boots and sucking mire will 

 allow, the sportsman moves up. He gets him- 

 self into position to shoot quickly, tests the 

 safety catch to be sure his weapon is ready, and 

 then chirrups to his dog to move in. Whiz-z-z ! 

 Something streaks it from the grass and mire 

 just ahead of the dog — ''Scaipe! — Scaipe!" — 

 a rasping note emitted from a small form fast 

 turning out corkscrews of ever-growing dis- 

 tance. Bang! Bang! May the recording 



