THE SHELD-DUCK 179 



fine birds, for, as he cautiously crawled up a sand-hill 

 to look over, he spied a fine Cob in all the glory of 

 his summer plumage, feeding on a large fish that 

 had been washed up. The bird was just a little too 

 far off, to make quite sure ; so down the shooter 

 slipped and did a back-aching crawl to get at him. 

 Cocking his gun, he sneaked through a lot of bents 

 and thorns, and then looked very cautiously. There 

 was the gull on a spit of sand a quarter of a mile 

 away, cackling like a " natural." The Cob had 

 seen the fowler, and declined to have any nearer 

 acquaintance. 



It is out at sea, when the Cob comes with others 

 to tear the fish out of the nets as they are hauled in, 

 that he gets it ; and it serves him right, for at such 

 times he does a lot of mischief in a very business- 

 like manner. Bad luck to the little Sheld-ducklings 

 if he catches them on the paddle ; but this rarely 

 happens, as they are well looked after, and know 

 how to hide themselves if danger is near. 



Very little escapes the eyes of a warrener's lad. 

 This one is barely fourteen, but the place is as well 

 known to him as his own home, for at times he 

 almost lives here. He knows where the Terns and 

 the Dotterels nest, also the Sheld-ducks, which, he 

 says, in the most quiet, matter-of-fact way, are 

 "wuss than foxes for artfulness." Some of the 

 nesting-holes he has discovered by seeing the old 

 bird either go in or come out while he lay curled up 

 in the bents watching for rabbits for the lad shoots 

 as well as traps. Others he has traced through 



