THE WOODCOCK 
and then dropped aside. Presently Creaman 
toddled near the place, and a long bill like a 
bee's sting darted out at him, not so much in 
attack as in warning, and he fell back in 
astonishment. There was some one already in 
possession, one like himself; and the law of 
the wild forbade him to oust her. As he 
looked he caught her 
eye, and instantly her 
contour sprang out of 
the picture, limned 
against the darker 
rushes. She was resting, 
but even so no other 
bird might share the 
chosen spot with her 
at least, not yet. So 
Creaman dabbled in the 
mud at a respectful distance, hesitating whether 
to make another advance. 
There was a little path which led through the 
heather to the pool. Few people live on 
Scarabeg, but the track was beaten hard with 
claw-marks, and night laid a taint on the place 
which the day's sun or rain could not wipe 
away. However, the ducks did not know this, 
and one old mallard, guzzling mud rapturously, 
waddled opposite the place. Instantly the fox 
sprang, and gripped him by the neck. A 
