90 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



near with his noiseless step, it would certainly never 

 see its mother again. 



Now our birds have neared the ferry, and that is 

 the extent of their feeding ground ; they will soon fly 

 back into the marsh. 



They are on wing. Very slowly they make 

 headway, for the wind is against them, and they are 

 low down. A shot is heard from the base of the sea- 

 wall close to a sluice. A great commotion follows, 

 for the leading bird, a fine cock heron, is hit in one 

 wing. He loses his balance at once, and drifts back 

 on his companions. The others are alarmed, and for 

 a moment there is a flapping and whirl of wings in 

 dire confusion, the fierce wind huddling them up one 

 on the other. It lasts only a few minutes ; they get 

 clear and fly over the marsh in different directions. 

 The wounded bird tries with all his might for a time 

 to keep up, for he is only tipped ; soon he begins to 

 wobble and flap, and at last drops on the marsh. 

 The shooter has a water spaniel with him ; the dog 

 has been intently watching the effect of the shot, and 

 seeing the bird drop, makes for it at once. The 

 shooter tells me his dog is a young one, and his 

 training is not yet finished. ' Come back, Nep ! come 

 back, Nep ! Come back, I tell you ! Ah, by Jove, 

 he's got it ! pretty hot, too ; hear him yelp.' He had 



