154 FEATHERED GAME 
ate course long enough to get the material for 
a ‘‘sandpeep pie.’’ Poor little things! For 
the one mouthful of goodness which makes your 
small bodies thus must you suffer! 
Out in the marsh grass when the late sum- 
mer has come, during the latter half of August, 
for a short time the flocks of fleet-winged little 
birds come scurrying in with gentle, flute-like 
piping, flying in from outer islands and bar- 
ren ledges where they have rested during the 
high tide. Now the fast receding water is leav- 
ing bare the soft black ooze of the ‘‘flats,’’ full 
and overcrowded with snails and tiny marine 
creatures, a veritable storehouse of good things 
to be had for the taking. Against the watery 
background their white bodies gleam an in- 
stant, and the little fellows show like a thin 
wreath of spray borne on the wind. As they 
dart in erratic flight another turn brings the 
dark backs into view, and next second they 
are lost as they skim across the patches of 
grass just beginning to show above the tide. 
Presently they ‘‘pitch’’ in a sheltered, muddy 
cove, and in their heedless innocence may have 
alighted almost at the feet of their enemy. At 
once they scatter and begin to feed, running 
