WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
deeply one night however, and then he slept so 
soundly that he never saw the devils at all, 
although in the morning he felt sure that they 
had been there. But gradually even whisky did 
not avail to keep them off although it took 
away his fear of them. He even became accus- 
tomed to them, and did not shoot at them any 
more, but listened to that crafty demon who 
suggested that he should fire at other things 
instead. And whereas he had previously been 
afraid to go out after dark, now he used to 
spend half the night wandering about the 
mountain-side, and come back to find his house 
full of spirits, and he laughed and sang to see 
them. Most often he used to sit by the tarn, 
and watch the calm reflection of the stars broken 
up into flickering fires by the wind. But he 
thought that it was devil's light. 
The Corr iasc used to fish there. By day he 
was a heron no doubt, but by night he was a 
devil, also. A still devil, who stood hunched, 
watching lesser devils play. At noon these 
might be frogs or roach, he told himself, at 
night he knew better, and so did the Corr iasc 
devil. Andy used to watch him for hours at a 
time, when the hillside was so still that the 
lip-lip of the water round the long legs could 
be heard plainly when they moved and set the 
starry devils in the water dancing in rhythm to 
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