242 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



The heavens brighten perceptibly, and for our sport 

 all too quickly. The broad belt of light cast by the 

 pile lighthouse athwart the grey waters of the estuary 

 waxes pale and sickly, and lights displayed by the fleet 

 of smacks trawling out on the main flicker as dimly as 

 glow-worms in a hedgerow on a hazy summer night. But 

 we are drawing very close to the middle banks, and ever 

 and anon the far-reaching " wheoh ! " of a widgeon or 

 the quacking of mallard is borne down to us on the light 

 but piercingly cold north-easterly breeze, which, as 

 luck has it, is well-nigh dead ahead, and therefore we 

 have the satisfaction of knowing that the keen-scented 

 fowl cannot possibly wind us. 



" Do'ee y'ere they ode fowl a-talkin', maister ? I doubt 

 not there be a tidy lot under the Cockle Bank, so keep a 

 bright look-out," whispered my companion, as he dex- 

 terously and silently propelled the low-sided, shallow- 

 draft gunning craft near and nearer towards the sea- 

 wrack-covered banks of slob. 



Now, the side of the gully nearest the banks was flanked 

 by a high ridge of sand, locally known as the Cockle Bank, 

 and by hugging this we were well screened from the quick- 

 sighted fowl, and would, unless some unforeseen incident 

 occurred to set them a-wing, be able to approach to well- 

 nigh within range of the big stanchion-gun under cover 

 of the ridge. Foot by foot and fathom by fathom crept 

 the punt towards the still invisible fowl, until one could 

 distinctly hear the curious slopping kind of noise which 

 surface-feeding ducks and geese make in tearing up the 

 succulent grass-like weed which forms their staple food 

 on the coast. A keen and ardent punt-gunner alone 

 can imagine the intense excitement which takes possession 



