180 THE TALE OF A TEAL 
shot, and the falcon shot aloft again—to look 
elsewhere. 
That night the wind shifted to the E.N.E. 
—straight from the frozen plains of Russia. 
It was awful. The lake froze over in no time, 
and the little teal, who had joined a select 
flock of five of his fellows, had nowhere left to 
feed, and knew that there was no suitable 
spot within hundreds of miles. 
Now, a little difficulty like this would have 
troubled some birds, but not so our teal and 
his friends. ‘They flew. They rose and flew 
steadily, with their little flat beaks pointing 
westward into the gloom. Below them the 
frozen, silent, white land slid by steadily and 
rapidly. 
On, on, on they whirred, till the white land 
gave place to a black void, which some hours 
later, when the moon came out, was turned 
into a silvery, dancing, cold wonder—the sea. 
Still on and on they beat, hour after hour, 
till at last a light, gray, cold, and cheerless, 
began to chase them from the east, overtook 
them, and then swept on. 
It was the dawn at last. 
Beneath them, gleaming like steel in the 
pale light, the muddy reaches of an estuary 
opened out ahead. ‘There were green hills 
beyond, and to the S.W. the huddled mass of 
