The Wild-Fowlers 115 



legs the while with his great palms, and 

 most humorously humming a sailorman's 

 tune precisely as we imagined Mr. Peg- 

 goty humming to himself on the beach of 

 old Yarmouth. 



No sign of the dawn as yet appeared 

 beyond that peculiar dusky gray of early 

 morn, but the old Captain's squinting 

 sweep of the horizon told him the weather 

 prospects were fair, that the approaching 

 day promised at least clearness and sun- 

 shine with a cold, brisk northwest wind, 

 the very next best sort of conditions to 

 real good ducking weather. Not the sort 

 of weather for great flights, thought he, 

 but perhaps no better day on earth to an- 

 swer the purpose of the three rollicking 

 sportsmen he had aboard. 



The wind still swept spankingly from 

 the northwest, though milder, much, 

 since midnight, and the stars twinkled 

 and the lights of the mainland and 

 the life-saving stations on the outer 

 bar were still shining forth as merrily as 



