ON THE NORTH SHORE AGAIN 109 



hawk sailing over the hill at my back, his 

 white rump showing. 



When I had left the hills behind me, and 

 was again skirting the muddy flats, I found 

 myself all at once near a few sandpipers, 

 a dozen, more or less, of white-rumps, 

 one with a foot dragging, one with a leg 

 held up, and beside them a single red-back, 

 or dunlin, staggering on one leg, the same 

 bird, it seemed likely, that I had pitied a 

 week ago. I pitied him still. Ornithology, 

 studied under such conditions, was no longer 

 the cheerful, exhilarating science to which 

 I am accustomed. It was more like socio- 



Perhaps I am sentimental. If so, may I 

 be forgiven. There is no man but has his 

 weakness. The dunlin was nothing, I knew ; 

 one among thousands ; a few ounces of flesh 

 with feathers on it ; what if he did suffer ? 

 It was none of my business. Why should 

 I take other men's amusements sadly ? The 

 bird was greatly inferior to the being who 

 shot him ; at least that is the commonly ac- 

 cepted theory ; and the superior, as every one 

 but an anarchist must admit, has the rights 



