26 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



and a few other things, and went to work. Of 

 course, the farmer what rented the marsh near the 

 place got as many as he liked to have ; he lived five 

 miles from there. I used to leave them for him as I 

 passed on the way home at night, and sometimes 

 ducks for a change. There was a rare lot of coots 

 as well ; they are good to eat, they are, but they 

 clapper-claw and scratch like cats if they ain't shot 

 dead. Well, all through the winter I managed 

 middlin' ; rough work at times, mind you, but I lived, 

 and that's somethin'. Mind your own line of work 

 and keep your tongue between your teeth is the best 

 plan when you drop on a lot of fowl like that. If 

 you let out one half a word, you'll have plenty to 

 help you do the work. My line of work is shootin' 

 fowl, an' I don't want anybody to help me.' 



The Kentish plover, he told me, was shot acci- 

 dentally when he fired at some fowl that had pitched. 

 The wind was blowing a gale when I bade him good- 

 bye ; I had my back to it, which was some little 

 comfort. 



Presently I heard a little twittering chatter, and 

 some small birds darted past and over the sea-wall 

 into the marsh. There was just light enough to see 

 them as they stood huddled up by the withered flags. 

 I fired my load off at them, and killed two stints. 



