ON MARSH AND DYKE 315 



skyline. But as B was anxious to wait for tlie even- 

 ing " flight," we took up our stands under the wall to 

 catch the duck as they travelled from the main to their 

 nightly feeding-grounds inland ; Tommy remaining with 

 B , who was a novice at the game. 



I had not long to wait before that whistling sound, so 

 dear to the wildfowler, and caused by the wings of fowl 

 cutting their way through the air, gladdened my ears. 

 " Swish, swish, swish," they came, flying low and a little 

 to the left of my stand. 



I catch a momentary glance of some twenty whirling 

 forms passing through the uncertain light like so many 

 flashes, and, singling out the nearest bird, I pull at him. 

 Bang ! Hang it, a clean miss ; but a dull thud in the 

 lucerne marsh proclaims that I have scored with my 

 second barrel, and I go to retrieve the mallard, as he may 

 have but a wing down, in which case he would harbour 

 in the first bit of cover at hand and would possibly 

 provide a banquet the next morning to one of Tommy's 

 owd " saddle -backs " or " hoodies." 



I very soon found my bird (a fat mallard), and was 



returning to the sea-wall, when B , who was placed 



some fifty yards distant from my " stand," suddenly let 

 drive, and the pellets from his gun whistled most 

 musically round my ears. 



" For God's sake keep your gun up, B ," I 



cried. 



" All right ; duck were flying low," shouted back my 

 careful friend. 



