128 A MOOELAND SANCTUARY 



her young came from beyond the thickets. This 

 unmistakeable sound was followed by a loud 

 whir as the duck and her brood rose swiftly 

 over the top of the alders by the bank. Too 

 timid to disregard such signs of danger, the 

 bittern waded back to the island, lowered his 

 head, spread his wings, and launched himself 

 into the air. Instantly he heard an almost 

 deafening noise and felt a stinging pain. Luckily, 

 however, the poacher's gun had not been held 

 quite straight, and the bird, though distressed, 

 was able to continue his flight. With desperate 

 and continuous effort he soared high above the 

 valley, till the wide sweep of the dim moorland, 

 dotted with shining pools and divided by the 

 shining brook, lay before him towards the 

 horizon. On and on he flew, and at last, in the 

 grey light of dawn, reached the gorge once more. 

 For days he languished, stiff and sore from his 

 wound. Fortunately, however, food was easily 

 obtained, and he was free from disturbance ; 

 but when at last he recovered, the autumn 

 migration had ended. 



It was now the time of the spring migration. 

 Night after night the birds passed over the marsh 

 by the sea ; night after night the bittern im- 

 patiently longed to depart. Why did he not fly to 

 the near estuary, and thence, by way of the river 

 valley, to his haunts on the moor ? The reason 



