8 The Wild-Fowlers 



young friend hid down snugly in the hay 

 at the bottom of their shelter, as the old 

 bayman shouted back : 



" Broadbills, an* a-comin' this way, 

 sure es eel-pots! Down, genelmen ! 

 Down like fiddler crabs! Ye '11 get a 

 shot teh unct er my name beant Capem 

 Grieb!" 



Far off in the gray east, twenty birds 

 broadbill, as the Captain truthfully identi- 

 fied the species could be plainly seen, 

 bunched like blackbirds and coming 

 surely nearer and nearer the hidden en- 

 emy. Captain Grieb poled hastily toward 

 the sloop, and, arriving too late to move 

 the conspicuous craft, did the very next 

 best thing crouched down in the bottom 

 of his little dingy, close to the dark side 

 of the larger boat, and muttered to him- 

 self: 



" Broadbills beant point birds in this 

 bay 'cept at 'tickler 'casions, an' th' 

 chances beant good fer th' Doctor teh git 

 'em inter th' decoys." 



