FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



gunshot, bobbing about, heads to wind, in the lap 

 of the tide. 



It would not be of the least use for punts to drift 

 up with the tide here, even if punts could be 

 brought to launch ; and to attempt it from open 

 water would be a suicidal movement, for no punt 

 could live. So there the birds are in thousands 

 for the time being, floating in perfect security, out 

 of gunshot. 



" Will they drift out with the ebb ? " I ask my 

 companion. 



" Drift out ! — devil a bit of it ! I only wish they 

 would. Was you on the beech when they raised 

 from the sand-bar ? " 



" Yes. Did the fowl come here straight ? " 



"No; they had sheered off somewhere, and 

 only dropped down when the flats got well under 

 water. 



" You'll see the lot leave directly ; at least you'll 

 hear 'em, for the tide is just on the ebb turn. It's 

 no use going to the mouth of the ma'sh, — the tide 

 goes out like a mill-sluice to meet the water on the 

 bar. Just you come along of me and hear the roar 

 and the hiss-hiss of it all." 



