34° A Golden Opportunity 



of nothing else. The veteran chuckled in his own 

 inimitable manner, and whispered, " I say, them 

 night lights in York must be bad for the eyes — 

 I sa-ay, you mole-eyed fool, don't you see 'em ? " 



An instant later one of the queer tufts of weed 

 nimbly sprinted for a few yards, then halted like 

 a soldier at " attention." Then mine eyes were 

 opened, and I saw the glorious truth — that every 

 tuft was a golden plover in the grayish brown 

 dress, and that there were near a thousand tufts. 



"I'll surround 'em — you do your best — I 

 sa-ay, do your best," and away he crept along 

 the fence line. It was a long way to the next 

 corner, but presently I made him out as he stole 

 down the opposite side. He was down so low, 

 that, were it not for the speed of his movements, 

 I could have sworn he was actually on hands and 

 knees — but this style of creeping was one of 

 his long suits. After a bit he vanished, and I 

 guessed he was " worming it." Then I noticed 

 a small bunch of birds trotting away from his 

 fence, and at once the swiftly planned attack was 

 intelligible. Then a double cloud of smoke belched 

 from a panel much farther along than I fancied 

 Joe could have got, and a string of trotting birds 

 keeled over. 



There followed a beautiful sight. Half the 

 surface of the big field appeared to take wing, 

 and a moment later a mighty column of plover 



