WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
patch, just where he had alighted on his first 
coming to Garrybrack. 
One by one the flighting birds dropped in, but 
he never stirred. At last, when the " false " 
dawn was still far off, a woodcock ran across 
the swamp so lightly that she scarcely left a 
footprint on the mud. She paused close to 
Creaman to wash her bill, and then passed on 
softly to the fern stub which was a few yards 
away. A minute later a keen ear in the swamp 
might have caught a low rustle of feathers, as 
when a sitting bird shifts from side to side in 
the nest to settle her eggs comfortably under 
her breast. It was the sign that Creaman's 
bequest to his race had passed into the charge 
of its proper executor, and might have right 
fulfilment by and by. 
# * # # # 
... A simple place to lie out by the open 
water. Even a waterhen would not have slept 
in such a place. The shade in the swamp under 
the trees was good hunting light for the owl. 
Woodcock was new prey, but it was feathered 
and still warm. . . . The man, passing later, 
found the long smears where frenzied wings 
had beaten the mud, and the trailing claws 
scraped long scars. These were plain for all to 
see, but the Man was not woodman enough to 
mark the fainter smudge where the owl's wing 
1 06 
