56 THE BIRD LIFE OF FORMBY. 



Then we eat our humble breakfast under the lee of a 

 bank close to the mouth of the muddy little river, with the 

 slain laid out in front of us. Mat's score is one mallard, a 

 beautiful old drake, and three widgeon, while mine is two widgeon. 

 As nice a little bag as one would wish to see. Genuine wild 

 birds obtained in a genuine sportsmanlike manner. No army of 

 beaters to drive them over us, no " stops " to prevent them 

 getting out the course of the guns. Overcome purely by old 

 Mat's strategy in coming night after night and morning 

 after morning until he has discovered the exact spot where the 

 birds flight. Old Mat wanted to stuff all the fowl into his 

 capacious pockets. But no, it shall not be, so we tie them up 

 into two little bundles, and with our guns over our shoulders, 

 march proudly through the village, just as the lazy inhabitants 

 are coming out to sniff the fresh morning air which we have 

 been enjoying for the last four hours. We have been many a 

 time since then, with good luck and with bad, though the 

 memory of my first morning's " fleetin " will never fade away, 

 so long as that old cock widgeon looks down upon me sadly 

 from his case. I meet old Mat now and then, setting off in 

 the evening to the shore, with his huge- gun over his shoulder, 

 and one of poor little Pepper's* children trotting by his side. 

 He stops and says " When are ye comin' fleetin ag'in." I 

 give a vague reply. Strange. I hav ; n't the courage to get up 

 at 3-15 now and tramp over that well-known road to the Alt 

 mouth. 



* For obvious reasons I have altered my companion's name to <; Mat," for he doesn't care about 

 " figgerin' i' print." Mat is not his real name. Poor Pepper was run over close to Altcar Rifle 

 Range Station about two years ago and was a great loss to my friend. 



