THE FIEST WIDGEON OF THE SEASON 3 



The light northerly breeze carries the gunning-punt up 

 the sinuous low-way at fair speed, and Gaffer Gilson 

 steers with unerring skill past every jut of ooze and black- 

 ground. A heron rises Hke a grey phantom from the 

 side of the gully, and, uttering a hoarse croak of alarm, he 

 glides on his great wings to seek a quieter fishing ground. 



The younger gunner might easily have stopped the 

 feathered angler's flight with a dose of No. 5's from the 

 " cripple-stopper," but, not possessing any great taste for 

 roasted heron, he allows the graceful bird to go on its 

 way unscathed, to the evident disgust of Gaffer Gilson, 

 who grumbles audibly that " Maister Williams, the bird- 

 stuffer, gives three bob for every frank-hern taken to 

 him, to say nothin' about the breast of the bird, which be 

 a wonderful sight better eatin' than a mallard or whaup." 



Every now and again the cackling of a bunch of duck 

 passing at no great distance gladdens the ears of the 

 gunners, and as the head of the punt enters the creek 

 a feathered hooligan of the mudflats in the form of a 

 red-shank goes shrieking and scolding up the waterway. 

 " Ah ! that's right, ye cussed yelper, screech away, and 

 let every blessed head o' fowl in the crick know as how 

 the Gaffer's arter 'em. But mayhap he'll have a 

 reckonin' with ye one fine day," growls old Gilson, as he 

 runs the nose of the punt into a muddy gully amongst 

 the saltings to load the heavy stanchion gun before 

 exploring the higher reaches of the creek. The passage 

 from the jetty has occupied some forty minutes, and the 

 first grey tokens of dawn are beginning to appear on the 



