A WILD GOOSE CHASE 



HAT little gaggle of grey- 

 lag geese have taken 

 possession of the meal 

 marshes on Reedy 

 Island, winter after 

 winter, ever since Jack 

 Conway was a lad. The 

 original number was 

 fourteen, but whether 

 the missing goose died 

 of old age or a dose of 

 lead from some fowler's 

 gun will never be known. Be that as it may, the thirteen 

 that remain to-day are, in the language of the East Coast 

 marshman, ''the d' — dst, masterful, cunning, owd var- 

 mints as ever wore feathers." Right in the very middle 

 of the marsh will they always pitch, to feed upon the 

 tender and succulent young grass, choosing a spot where 

 there is not sufficient cover to harbour a hare, and, of 

 course, far out of gunshot of any dyke or gut, along which, 

 by wading noiselessly, one might possibly manage to 

 stalk them. 



Not once or twice, but scores of times, had Jack tried 

 to out-manoeuvre those wary and cunning old geese, but 

 never a shot would they allow him to get into them ; and 

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