256 THE WILD DUCK 



Presently, a flock of wild geese, Brent or Barnacles, 

 which, driven inland by the cruel weather, you 

 have been watching, half the day, feeding in the 

 middle of a big meadow, far out of reach of friend 

 or foe, come flying up the river, high in air, in the 

 shape of a large V, and cackling cheerily as they 

 wing their way. Irritated, perhaps, by your pre- 

 vious failures, you do what no sportsman should 

 ever do, you fire into the flock in the faint hope 

 that one stray shot may break a wing-bone. A 

 couple of seconds after you have fired, you hear 

 distinctly the half-spent shots rattle harmlessly 

 against the close-set, shot-proof feathers of the 

 breasts of the wild geese ; and then, a couple of 

 seconds later, again, you hear them drop sullenly 

 and reproachfully, one after the other, into the 

 glistening water at your feet. Ever and anon, a 

 sharp clean swish into the river, a hundred yards 

 away, tells you that a duck, or a wigeon, or a teal, 

 has passed unseen and unheard by you, and has 

 dropped into the haven where he would be, and 

 you think, half frozen as you are, you might well 

 have chosen a better " stand " or a more lucky 

 night. Last of all, you hear the cries of a big drift 

 of wild fowl coming, as it seems, straight towards 

 you, and, this time, well within range. The air 



