62 Watching the Brant Grow Bi 



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ing white flanks as they wheel into line. 

 They are not coming. They are going 

 toward the middle of the bay. See that 

 persistent one. He wants to come to me 

 and the others do not, but that one is 

 so determined that the others weaken in 

 their good judgment and follow him. 

 Now they stop fluttering. One sets his 

 wings, another sets his wings, all four set 

 their wings, and come slantting down an 

 easy incline of air right toward the decoys. 

 Neck and neck, wing and wing, tail and 

 tail, on they come. Up I jump and breed 

 confusion. " Ronk ! " says one, and down 

 through the smoke he tumbles with a 

 mighty splash. " Kruk ! Kruk!" says 

 another, and then he makes the spray fly 

 ten feet into the air at the edge of the 

 bar, and causes the clams to squirt for 

 rods around. " B-r-a-n-t ! B-r-r-r-a-n-t! 

 B-r-r-r-a-n-t / " say the other two, swish- 

 ing themselves right up into high air. 

 Yes, brant they are, and beauties too. 



The March wind is piercing, the box is 

 damp, the flying sleet rattles on my coat. 

 I lie upon my back listening to the lapping 



