302 WITH THE WOODLANDERS. 



than that, there is a mystery about them, they 

 come and go at no man's bidding; to and fro, 

 here to-day, gone to-morrow. Birds of the night, 

 or at least of the darkness, they might be fitly 

 called : the shores at night are never silent, not 

 even in summer. The fowl are gone for a brief 

 time, but some small waders remain, to pipe and 

 twit to the gentle ripple of the tide when it is 

 calm and quiet. 



Times and often have I wandered along the 

 shore long after the sun has dipped, leaving be- 

 hind it that rich light haze that floats along so 

 full of warm colour just off the land. Through 

 it the fishing-boats drift like purple shadows ; the 

 gulls are at rest in the marshes behind the sea- 

 wall ; nothing is to be heard but the murmur of 

 the tide, and the pipe of the dotterel as it starts 

 up unseen before you in the twilight. The long- 

 shore is at rest. 



Again, a bank of clouds, with a gleam of silver on 

 their top edges, breaks away ; then the moon lights 

 up for a short time a waste of waters, for it is full 

 flood-tide with the wind dead on shore. The waves 



