144 
THE OLD SPORT 
a quiet feeding-place* The Yellow Legs, the most 
tempting of small game, mingle with their in- 
significant relatives, but are picked out by waiting 
sportsmen* The ceaseless gathering of food that 
marks the lives of the shore waders seems almost 
pathetic as they settle on the wet sand to daintily 
pick and reach while waiting guns are levelled* With 
depleted numbers they fly elsewhere, shot after shot 
continuing the predatory destruction* The noisy 
attack is prolonged into the open day and leaves no 
pause for rest, revealing in unconcern the harsh law 
that there is no truce in nature's warfare* 
