33 2 The Golden Plover 



pearance so astonished me that fourteen fine 

 fellows fell to two barrels. Needless to say, this 

 was in no sense sport, and my sole excuse for the 

 outrage is that I thought the flock was travelling, 

 and unlikely to offer another chance. 



A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY 



To slip away from grinding Gotham, from the 

 roar and the clatter and the ceaseless jar of it all, 

 is no bad medicine for a weary writer, and I was 

 taking my medicine with a childish swallowbility 

 most beautiful to behold. 



The quiet Ontario parsonage somewhat resem- 

 bled a fat old dormouse working overtime; but 

 nevertheless it was no bad place to be. The 

 night silence was almost appalling and I lay 

 like a scared child in the dark, afraid to cry 

 out and too utterly forsaken to think of going 

 to sleep. 



A big apple — soulless and criminally irrespon- 

 sible — fell with a crash upon a distant, hollow 

 roof, then slowly trundled and fell again to earthy 

 silence. It was absolutely terrifying. Then 

 there came a mysterious rustling, a feeling of a 

 myriad searching fingers, a vague sniffing here 

 and there and everywhere — exactly what might 

 have been caused by a monstrous blue tiger with 

 a pale pink tail — and I sat up ! 



