SALT-WATER BIRDS. 199 



Several hundred yards they go, when the lino 

 swings with wondrous precision, and back it 

 comes, headed directly toward us. Make not a 

 motion, and keep as low as possible, for few 

 birds of their size can sheer off with the speed 

 of these at the slightest suspicion of danger. 

 The ends of the line fold back, and it bears off 

 a bit as it changes into a wedge-shaped mass. 

 For a moment each dark wing fans the air with 

 rapid stroke, then as quickly each is set in rigid 

 curve, the air begins to hiss beneath their de- 

 scending speed, and they turn themselves upward 

 and set their wings forward to alight. But sud- 

 denly a raucous Wa ook bursts from a dozen 

 throats, and in a twinkling the orderly array of 

 descending black turns into a huddle of white 

 and jet as with rapid stroke of wing the whole 

 flock wheels skyward and outward. 



Quick they are, but not quite quick enough 

 to escape a quick shot. For as the first barrel 

 of one gun spouts fire over the water, the last 

 bird folds its black wings, droops its dark neck, 

 and down through the soft sunlight it sinks with 

 a splash into the bay. Before the smooth sur- 

 face breaks beneath its weight a shining whirl of 



