Footprints on the Sand. gg 



ing dunlins ; they see the flocks of scaup-ducks dwind- 

 ling from the waters of the bay ; they hear no more 

 the clamour of the gulls. But no impulse of migration 

 stirs their pulses. They are content to stay, and by 

 some solitary shore where no passing steps disturb 

 their peace find a spot where they may rear their 

 broods. 



At the mouth of the tidal river whose mud-stained 

 waters go to swell the brown flood of Severn, a mass 

 of limestone lifts its head above the sea. The rugged 

 surface is stained with vivid lichens. Tufts of purple 

 thrift bloom among the sea-worn stones. The golden 

 samphire that clusters about the summit shows the top 

 safe above the highest tides. It is the sanctuary of 

 the oyster-catcher. The fisherman, drifting down the 

 stream to visit his nets out at sea, knows well the 

 watchful figures of the old birds, whose conspicuous 

 dress and long red beaks are so plain to see ; but the 

 solitude of the little islet is rarely broken, and year by 

 year the oyster-catchers lead down their little family to 

 the river. There is no nest of any sort. The eggs 

 are laid on the bare rock; but sometimes the birds 

 are found to smear them with mud, as if prompted 

 by past losses to take some precautions for conceal- 

 ment. 



On the mud that borders the island stands a shel- 

 drake a handsome bird, whose brilliant plumage 

 makes him at once one of the most beautiful and 

 striking figures of the shore. Here at least he is a 



72 



