86 The Life Worth Living 



The Smith's Island Light, just over our 

 heads, the greatest light of the Atlantic 

 coast, was still flashing its gleaming message, 

 "45," over the storm-clouded sea. 



Within an hour we had reached the bend 

 of the beach, five miles above the station. 

 The tide had just begun to ebb as the sun 

 burst from the ocean through the cloud- 

 banks of the passing storm. 



The Captain was right. The birds had 

 come on its black wings. The beach was 

 literally covered with them. We were in 

 rare luck. We were the first on the beach, 

 the first day of their season, and the wind 

 was blowing a steady gale from sea, just the 

 way we wished it. 



Hastily gathering some dead bushes and 

 grass from the sand-dunes, we build a scraggy 

 blind, place our decoys on the edge of the 

 receding surf, and are ready for them. 



How beautifully they come! 



Sometimes they pitch among the decoys. 



