1 84 IN FLIGHT TIME 
At long intervals a shivering sigh passes over the 
woodlands, dying away as quickly as it came. The 
first sigh of a declining year is this ; only at one 
season is that mysterious sound heard, and it is that 
of the falling leaf. Some may not have noticed this, 
but to many of us it is one of the unmistakable 
warnings that summer has flown, and that the begin- 
ning of the year's end is near. 
But our musings are put an end to by Tom, who 
shouts, ' Massy alive ! what be these 'ere things 
a-comin' Mister ? Look at 'em with that 'ere tool o' 
yourn ! ' 
I look in the direction indicated, and see nine 
large birds coming at top speed, their wings full 
spread their best migrating rate this is. They are 
herring gulls, all of them pure grey and white. As I 
hand Tom the glass they are right overhead. After 
a moment's silence he yells out, ' As big as geese ! I 
ken see the feathers in their wings, an' their beaks an' 
eyes ! Why ye ken a'most touch things with this ! ' 
Those who know the ways of the herring gull 
know well that they visit the cornfields at times. 
Although this place is full thirty miles from the tide 
' as the crow flies,' and the gulls were making direct 
for the south coast, it is possible they may have 
rested on some of the large sheets of water that so 
