DAYS 155 



face with her soft brown eyes, was say- 

 ing as plainly as she could, " It's getting 

 cold, and it's time to be going in." And 

 so it was. A white mist was gathering 

 over the far-away flats, and creeping up 

 the gorge through which the mountain 

 stream rushed over its stony course to 

 the tidal river. One by one the spectral 

 herons glided slowly out of the dim 

 distance and alighted silently on the 

 edge of the incoming tide. There they 

 stalked, gray and ghost-like, or stood 

 motionless on one leg. Around their 

 quiet forms flocks of sea-gulls whirled, 

 uttering their weird and plaintive cries. 

 They shrieked and gabbled at each other 

 as they fought for the food which the 

 tide brought in, and ever and anon a 

 shelduck would join in the clamour with 

 a succession of laughing quacks. Then 

 the curlews became vociferous as they 

 prepared to start for the uplands, and 

 when the sedge-bird in the reed-beds 



