motionless, the stern of a bird which, head buried in weed, obviously supposed itself safe from observation. I felt almost certain that it was not an ostrich, though its manœuvre lent colour to that belief. To make absolutely sure, I stooped, and, taking a secure grip, extracted a waterhen—red bill, yellow legs, and all. I had never hitherto guddled a waterhen, and the experience was highly pleasurable. Having heard that these birds are succulent, I thought once of despatching the thing and placing it in my creel to keep the egg company; but it lay quite still in my hands, and its frightened eye disarmed me. Also a shrill little squeaking arose from amidst the rushes, and a small black ball with a scarlet neb became visible, oaring furiously away. This was the child of my captive. It caught sight of me and dived, swam six inches under water, rose, squeaked, dived again, and was no more seen. But its tender voice completed the work. If I destroyed its mother it must undoubtedly perish. Probably I was contemplating an infringement of the law—moorhens are just the sort of bird that would be protected. I restored my prey to the water. It dived, and reappeared presently, uttering maternal calls. I wandered on, my heart aglow with the consciousness of a skilful deed and a good action. All this time no sign of Slattery.
