138 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



howling and whining to his feet, and dashed away 

 again. Sick at heart, the fowler followed, until both 

 man and dog were beaten back by the tide. 



How it had occurred no one knew. Moving sands 

 are horribly treacherous in the darkness, when 

 certain marks are not visible. The sun had set 

 on that unfortunate fowler for ever here. Three 

 days afterwards were heard the mournful words 

 " Come ashore." . . . 



The sun has gone down, and the great bright 

 harvest moon is well up in the sky, — the hunters' 

 moon. The last load of corn has passed out of the 

 field, and you can hear the click of the gate as it 

 closes, and the creak of the wheels as the heavily 

 laden waggon passes down the lane on its way to 

 the farm. After a time, life of another kind comes 

 to people that stubble-field. Bits of shadows move 

 here and there that, if we were near enough to see, 

 would prove to be hares and rabbits : there is a lot 

 of choice nibbling for them in the tender green stuff 

 that flourishes so luxuriantly between the rows of 

 the corn-stalks. How much or how little harm is 

 done by them to crops, that is, corn crops, we are 

 not prepared to say; but though both hares and 



