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In Quesl of 



a tin pan. A tug, a plunge, a flurry of 

 wings ; the anchor string snapped and away 

 she went, half flying, half running over the 

 water, and plunged in among the wild birds 

 in a smother of spray. In an instant she was 

 swallowed up in a dense circle of gray backs 

 and slender black necks with white cheek 

 patches, and the whole flock drew swiftly 

 away into open water, cackling and jabber- 

 ing softly, with the nasal konk-a-konk of Old 

 Graylag sounding incessantly above the 

 hushed chatter of her wild kindred. 



Late that day, after waiting long, cold 

 hours in the vain hope that they would come 

 near my hiding-place, I pushed out sadly in 

 a leaky old tub of a boat to catch the Widow 

 Dunkle's goose. The flock took alarm while 

 I was yet far away; slanted heavily up-wind 

 to the tree-tops, where with much calling 

 and answering the young birds fell into line, 

 and the wedge bore away swiftly seaward. 

 After them went Old Graylag heartbroken, 

 beating her heavy way over the water, call- 

 ing and calling again to the flock that had 



now become only a 



