96 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



perhaps, were the shining Ipswich dunes, 

 wave on wave of dazzling white sand. I 

 ought to have stayed with the picture, per- 

 haps; but there were no longspurs, and 

 somehow this was a day for birds rather 

 than for a landscape. I would return to 

 the muddy flats, and spend my time with 

 the sandpipers and the plover. The telltale 

 yellow-legs were whistling, and who could 

 guess what I might see? 



At the little pool I must stop for another 

 visit with my single sandpiper. He would 

 be there, I felt certain. And he was; as 

 pretty as before, and no more alarmed at 

 my presence, though as he balanced himself 

 on one leg his body shook with a constant 

 rhythmical pulsation, as if his heart were 

 beating more violently than a bird's heart 

 should. He did not look happy, I thought. 

 And why should he, far from home, with a 

 wounded foot, no company, and an unknown 

 number of guns yet to face before reaching 

 the end of his long journey? He was hardly 

 bigger than a sparrow, but he was one of 

 the creatures which lordly man, endowed 

 with "godlike reason," a being of "large 



