178 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



quito mob withdrew to a respectful distance. 

 Jonathan reached for the bottle. 



&quot;Oh, I can just as well carry it,&quot; I said, 

 and tucked it into one of my hunting-coat 

 pockets. 



Jonathan chuckled gently, but I did not 

 care. Nothing should part me from that little 

 bottle of ill-smelling stuff. 



We started on again, out across the marsh. 

 Enough light had come to show us the gray- 

 green level, full of mists and little glimmers 

 of water, and dotted with low haycocks, their 

 dull, tawny yellow showing softly in the faint 

 dawn light. 



&quot;Hark!&quot; said Jonathan. 



We paused. Through the fog came a faint, 

 whistling call, in descending half-tones, inde 

 scribable, coming out of nowhere, sounding 

 now close beside us, now very far away. 



&quot;Yellowlegs,&quot; said Jonathan. &quot;We are n t 

 a bit too soon.&quot; 



We pushed out into the midst of the marsh, 

 now sinking knee-deep in the spongy bed, now 

 walking easily on a stretch of firm turf, now 

 stepping carefully over a boundary ditch of 

 unknown depth out to the haycocks, where 



