ON THE SALT-MAESHES 201 



then cautiously peering througli a growth of high bents, 

 I scanned every yard of the open creek which ran 

 immediately below ; but never a sight of a teal, or indeed 

 of fowl of any kind, was there to be seen on its unruffled 

 surface or muddy shores. " Flown ! " was my muttered 

 ejaculation, as I laid the 12-bore across the top of 

 the wall. But almost before the word had escaped 

 my lips, a little rotund form, quickly followed by a 

 number of others, suddenly emerged from a small gut, 

 which, after worming its way through the salt-marshes, 

 emptied itself into the creek at a distance of perhaps a 

 hundred yards from the sea-wall. 



Instead of working up the creek and towards me, how- 

 ever, the teal — for such they proved to be — began to 

 paddle seawards, and, although not by any means 

 an expert fowl-caller, I decided to try and call the 

 beautiful little duck within shot. Placing the tip of my 

 tongue against the roof of my mouth, I gave a species 

 of whistle whick seemed to scare the teal more than 

 anything else, for they travelled down creek a good 

 deal faster than before. But the second attempt was 

 certainly an improvement on the first, and the little 

 fowl ceased paddling for a moment, and looked back to 

 see whence the strange call came. The third call 

 resulted in an answering challenge, and the teal came 

 up the creek slowly but surely towards my " lay-up." 

 On and on they came, until almost within range, when 

 suddenly, to my unspeakable disgust, a shepherd, 

 accompanied by a bobtailed sheep-dog, appeared round 



