A t the Haunt of the Grey Geese 



its flute-like song. By early afternoon the spring tide is at 

 the full, and all the mud flats are covered. The last of the 

 grey plover and dunlin have been driven from their feeding, 

 and the grey geese have gone, with many honking cries, to 

 their inland feeding ground. But in the air are still the cries 

 of many lapwing, the songs of many larks, and the whistle of 

 redshank as a perfect day of spring draws towards its close. 



