196 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



ing every inch of his lengthy proportions well hidden 

 within the muddy duck-hole, he awaits the coming of a 

 herd of curlew, which, judging from the direction whence 

 the call proceeds, are flying over the neighbouring marshes, 

 and may pass within shot of the pit. 



" Cur-lee ! Cur-lee ! Cur-lee ! " What a racket the 

 sabre-billed, keen-sighted birds make as they speed over 

 the silent levels, top the sea-walls, and come streaming 

 over the head of the crouching gunner ! 



Now or never ! Jack springs to his feet, and, singling 

 out a curlew flying within the " thick " of the herd, he 

 pulls. 



A couple crumple up to the contents of the first barrel, 

 while the left accounts for another bird. The remainder 

 of the herd fly towards the main. 



Elated with the success of his double shot the young 

 fowler gathers the " dead 'uns " and prepares to slay 

 more fowl. But, though the heavy report of Bumble 

 Toogood's antiquated, albeit deadly, lo-bore booms out 

 every now and again, never another bird of any kind 

 ventures to pass within range of the duck-hole. 



Old King Sol's great fiery head now appears upon the 

 eastern skyline, and he sheds his golden largesse broadcast 

 upon tide, sand-bar and ooze-flat. 



Daylight is here, and the flighting-time is over. 



