i 4 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



carrion that floats to them run their burrows upward for 

 fear of inundation and, for convenience, burrow out on the 

 inner and grassy side, for the sake of the fresher water in the 

 ditches. You will observe their runs, leading from their 

 burrows to the ditch-side, worn into well-defined tracks, so 

 rounded that you might run a cricket ball down as truly as 

 you see the ball gliding in a draper's cash-ladder. Out of 

 one of the burrows is sticking a handful of black feathers 

 the tail and wing-feathers of a hapless rook. Some " walk- 

 ing" gunner wanted to empty his old muzzle-loader yester- 

 day ; he did not wish to return with it loaded, as a damp 

 charge might on the morrow lose him a chance at a wigeon 

 or a plover. The rook, unfortunately, came within range and 

 fell a victim to his aim and heartlessness, tumbling down a 

 bunch of bleeding flesh and broken feathers, " like a bunch 

 of rags " he described it ; and the sportsman (?) left it where 

 it fell, complimenting his fowling-piece, and blessing his 

 deadly aim. A rat in a burrow hard by heard the shot, and 

 knew its purport ; he licked his paws, peered out of his hole, 

 and later on mustered up courage and came out. He had 

 before connected these strange noises with good suppers 

 thereafter ; and if he knew any local saws one of them must 

 have been "You never know your luck"! He was hunting 

 the walls with the perseverance of a stoat which now and 

 again hunts rats in turn when a puff of wind ruffled the 

 wing of the rook, and his keen eye saw it. To run up and 

 seize his prize was the matter of a moment, and a few 

 minutes' labour brought it to his burrow. He could not drag 

 it in, so he bit through the neck, and took the head down ; 

 then he came up again and set to work upon the carcase. 

 Why prolong the inferences? We lift up the remains by 

 one wing and find scarcely a particle of muscle left on the 

 breast and leg and wing-bones. 



The "rond," or "salting," as they call it elsewhere, is 

 covered with the colourless remnants of the Sea Scurvy-grass 

 (Cochlearia officinalis}. It seems strange, but linnets and larks 

 appear to be partial to this semi-marine herbage in the 

 winter, and flocks of them often frequent it. We put up 

 several of either species as we stumble along. From a bunch 

 of woolly-crowned Michaelmas daisies a dozen or more snow- 

 buntings take to wing with soft piping notes of protest, and 



