3 6 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 



"chang" rather than "ping" myself. In a moment all was excitement; Z , 



who was a grand old fellow, being as keen as anyone. Posting us a few yards 

 apart along the bank, he assured us that the birds would soon climb to the 

 tops of the reeds. It looked as if we were going to get them dryshod after all. 

 The reeds, however, were very dense, being a mixture of reeds proper, rushes, 

 and sedge, and though the old hand caught occasional glimpses of a bird, we 

 novices could never succeed in locating one. Thus we waited for the best 

 part of half an hour, and there seemed every probability of our continuing to 

 wait ; not one came actually to the top. We now arranged a drive. Z 

 was to advance along the dyke in his waders, while we stood two on each side 

 at its end. We had promised on no account to fire back, the idea being that 

 the birds would fly between us towards the open ground beyond. 



We were to permit them to reach it, and then anyone could let drive. As 



Z advanced, we heard the Tits' scolding note preceding him along the 



dyke, and noticing, as I did, the obvious excitement of the others, I began to 

 feel that the drive was likely to prove as dangerous to us as to the birds. The 



same idea occurred simultaneously to S , who, after backing uneasily for 



several yards, a manoeuvre which brought me into his line of fire, saw fit to 

 enter a protest just at the moment when the Tits reached the end of the dyke. 

 They took the hint, and rising barely clear of the reeds doubled straight back 

 over the driver's head, subsequently wheeling into a large reed bed on the left. 

 As they flew, they uttered another note. It was doubtless that which has 

 been likened by Stevenson to the clashing of cymbals, for we thought it 

 sounded very musical. After liberal free criticism of one another's conduct 

 and of the arrangements for the drive, we took up a fresh position, and Z 

 once more entered the reeds. It was a more open bed than the last, and soon 

 we saw him signalling that he could actually see the birds. His keenness was 

 infectious; abandoning cat-like principles, I pulled up my trousers above the 

 knee, and, resolved to sacrifice boots, socks, and pants, and chance what might 

 result from the journey back, I rushed into the water, and quickly found 



myself at Z 's side. The birds meantime had disappeared again, but, 



having once taken the plunge, I tramped after them, put up an old cock right 

 under my nose, and knocked him over just as he showed signs of dropping 

 again. I had doubts whether we should retrieve him at first, but I kept my 

 eye fixed on the spot where he fell, and at last found him floating among the 

 stalks. We knew there were other birds about from the drive, and it was not 

 long before I flushed a hen. The reeds here were as high as my head, and 

 thinking she was dropping, I fired too hurriedly and missed her clean. She 

 then pitched in a dry patch, and G. F. joined me for the next attempt, while 



