THE BIRD LIFE OF FORMBY. 47 



yell from Jim of " one's down," and I duck my head clear of the 

 smoke which hangs around me and see a goose flapping away full 

 speed for the frozen brook with a single broken wing. This is too 

 much. Dropping my gun on the log, with a frantic rush I dash 

 away after the bird which is doing a record pace for the "boundary 

 brook." Seeing me in full chase, the bird redoubles his efforts, 

 crossed a snow-covered ditch at the end of the field and makes 

 the best of his way to the brook. Crash bang went the writer on 

 to the snow and ice-covered ditch, crack went the ice and IN went 

 " yours truly," while the cold (oh ! so cold) peat water closed 

 affectionately into his cartridge pockets and into the long shooting 

 boots. But the sight of that wretched goose scrambling with 

 his broken wing behind him up the bank into "sanctuary" over 

 the boundary made me make a superhuman attempt to reach terra 

 firma, which was luckily successful. Then off again with limbs as 

 cold as ice and a "squelch, squelch" of water in dripping clothes 

 after that wretched bird. I dash up the cut-bank, and then, with a 

 cry of delight, fling myself bodily on to the goose which is just 

 about to cross over. At last ! after many a long stalk and many 

 a long crawl, a genuine bona-fide wild goose is at last in my 

 power ! What joy ! My first goo 



" Here ! it's eleven o'clock, and what are you doing with that 

 cushion in your arms on the floor there. Wake up ! Wake up ! 

 They've all gone to bed and I'm just going to put the light 

 out." It is a cheery voice that greets me, lying with a cushion 



squashed up in my arms, with my toes as cold as ice and the 

 G 



