In the Haunts of Wild Fowl 119 



ders, and if I dropped it, things would stop 

 with a crash. Here in this mysterious realm 

 of sun and moon and star, wind and tide, 

 bay and sea, sand beach and solemn sweep- 

 ing marsh, how small and poor that other 

 world, and how little it seemed to need me! 



Swiftly the days fly. Ten days go flashing 

 by as a dream, and we rub our eyes in vain 

 effort to account for them. 



We waked one morning and found that 

 old Neptune had hauled his wind to the 

 southeast in the night and drawn about us 

 the grey mantle of mystery, a fog. All day 

 long it hung on, dense and clinging, putting 

 out the light of sun, moon, star and friendly 

 lighthouse. The birds never moved a wing 

 or uttered a cry. They huddled in groups 

 wherever the fog caught them. Far out 

 over the sand beach we could hear the 

 deep bay of the ocean hounds crying their 

 distress. It was no use to grumble. We 

 had learned to take things as they came. 



