258 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



at me and whispered, " How far is it for a 

 crawl ? " 



"About fifty yards, I think," was the whispered 

 answer, through the blite. No more was said. On 

 hands and knees we went at it, a dirty, evil-smelling 

 crawl, through that wet, slimy, salt, sodden tangle. 

 We were like a couple of tortoises. Just as we 

 were about to rise for a shot, up started a redshank, 

 yelping at a fearful rate. There was not the least 

 chance of a shot, for he simply threw himself out of 

 the blite-pools into a gully close to the gripe. We 

 did not rise, we simply looked at each other and 

 said nothing. No words could express our feelings 

 as we saw him shoot out of the gully, perch himself 

 on a tussock out of shot-range, and bob up and 

 down like a large thistle-bloom all the time. It 

 was too much, and we at once decided that he 

 must die. We would blow him to atoms and make 

 thistle-down of him to punish him for his mis- 

 deeds. That was our intention, one we were de- 

 termined to carry out ; but the yelper had views of 

 his own on the matter, and he was equally deter- 

 mined that we should not kill him. The ugly chase 

 he led us was enough to disgust even an alligator. 



