42- ON GREENLAND AT DUCK-FLIGHT. 



them. We wait a weary time, but there comes 

 no sign or token of the birds. 



As the evening grows darker and chillier, the 

 moan of the tide rises, and a breeze starts up 

 which increases gradually, driving a salt, pene- 

 trating mist before it which, despite the shelter 

 of the barrel and the straw, causes one of the 

 occupants to speculate as to whether the born 

 fool or his employer is the. greater idiot for pass- 

 ing such an evening on Greenland. At length 

 it is evident that if the wild duck did come, 

 it would be impossible to see them ; and so, 

 crippled from long crouching, and shivering 

 with cold, the sportsman motions to Cuck to 

 prepare to return. Tom o' Bedlam is as excited 

 by the roar of the wind and sea as if he had 

 drunk a pint of whisky. He goes scattering 

 odd sentences in his native tongue, of which 

 one can only catch snatches. His feather-brain 

 was whirling in Edgar's fashion " Pillicock 

 sat on Pillicock hill. Halloo, haloo, loo, loo !" 

 nor would he cease his uncomfortable jabber. 

 It was with difficulty he could be kept in sight- 

 he would run ahead and leap a dyke, and then 

 suddenly dash back again, clearing it with a 



