THE GOOSING 225 



fronts behaved exactly alike. First they laid out their 

 long necks flat on the water as their fellows did on land. 

 Then, as the boats came nearer, they sank their bodies 

 till the water was almost over their backs. It was 

 wonderfully difficult to see them then — they looked like 

 bits of stick. 



When a boat approached a bird it would just sink its 

 head and shoot forward under the water. They never 

 went down like diving ducks. 



And now the body of brent was exactly opposite the 

 entrance to the nets, and about them in a half circle 

 were the boats. Round and round they swam, but 

 refused to leave the water. The boats did not dare 

 close in for fear the geese should break. It was a 

 ticklish moment — the geese would not make the land. 



At last a single old goose — a bean he was — stepped 

 out and ran up the bank. He was quickly followed by 

 one or two more, and then by the first of the brent. 



And now that they had started they went quickly 

 enough, scrambling after one another and heading into 

 the net. Over the green they ran like a flock of 

 domestic geese. Sometimes they aimed for right or 

 left, but then the children showed themselves and the 

 geese were turned. 



The last bird was in, and then we closed the rear. 



Not a brent had flown, not a brent had dived, not one 



escaped. Of all that army every bird was in the net — 



a dense, black, moving mass. 



p 



