46 THE BIRD LIFE OF FORMBY. 



seals himself on a log of wood 60 or 70 yards to the south of the 

 favoured spot. Usually, when waiting for the flight during early 

 autumn, peewits and odd curlew come whistling round, brightening 

 up the bare stretch of Moss with their busy plaintive cries, while 

 snipe rise up now and again and skim off over our heads to find 

 some more favoured feeding ground before night comes down on 

 them. But to-day, not a peewit is to be heard, not a snipe could 

 be found for miles, and the curlews, which always look after No. i, 

 are feeding happily on the toothsome moluscs on the sea-shore. 



Night is closing in over this true winter scene, when, with a 

 "' whirr " and a flash, half-a-dozen dainty teal come past me, and 

 are out of shot before I have time even to raise my gun. But 

 the flight is now on, and a few ducks can be seen high up in the 

 air, reconnoitering that tempting " Clou' " before they finally decide 

 to dine there. But whether they notice the unfamiliar black forms 

 of Jim and myself, which surely were not there last night, or 

 whether they fancy some other open piece of water which they 

 know of and we don't, I can't say, but none came within shot. 

 Then follows a moment or two of quietness ; but almost imper- 

 ceptibly I notice a quiet, rushing noise behind me, and I quickly 

 glance round. One look is enough. Making straight for the 

 " Clou'," with their long necks out-stretched, their feet all ready for 

 "settling," come about 20 fine geese. Pulling out my No. 4's as 

 hastily as I possibly could, and jamming in a couple of big B.B.'s, 

 I up with the gun and pull both barrels into the middle of them. 

 A flash in the dim light, a tremendous "bang," a blood-curdling 



