54 THE BIRD LIFE OF FORMBY. 



log from the piles of drift which cover the last high water 

 mark, and walking about 50 yards from the Alt mouth he tells 

 me to "bide theer," while he himself gets a little driftwood 

 and settles himself down 100 yards to the northward of me. 

 Not a sign of daybreak yet. The lighthouse, a quarter of a 

 mile away, sends a brilliant shaft of light into the gloom, and 

 further away to the south'ard are the twinkling lights of 

 Liverpool and the steady glare of the " Rock." 



A hoarse whistle comes echoing over the water from the 



" Germanic," inward bound from New York, whose bow light I 



can just distinguish rounding the Crosby Lightship. A flock of 



dunlin come past me but I leave them alone, for our shot are 



meant for better game, and the less shooting the better before 



the "flight." A few streaks of red begin to tinge the sky at 



last away to the east and a general "lifting" of the darkness 



is soon apparent. With the dawn comes the cold, and it is 



indeed biting sitting here in the open with nought but the 



shells and seaweed to protect us from the wintry zephyr (regd. 



phrase). Suddenly there is a quiet " rustle " in the air above 



me and I can just descry the forms of two mallard far out of 



shot, skimming with their necks outstretched to spend a quiet 



sleepy day on some far away sandspit. Then comes a " boom " 



from my companion's huge gun, and a satisfactory "flop" on 



the wet sand directly after is very comforting. But yet again 



I hear the gentle " sow, sow " of approaching fowl, and, as the 



birds near me, they are clearly outlined against a brilliant 



