Many a fine bird that had never been shot or its plumage injured would Den see in his shooter friend's hands from time to time. When the fowl came off the water to feed on the wild celery, whilst all good people were asleep, by some means or other Baulk enticed many of them into his own safe keeping. Clever he was in all relating to the creatures of the flats. Den used to watch him on the saltings after curlews, with his dog Nettle, a long-bodied animal about the size of a fox, with ears well pricked up and a bushy fox-like tail. Like a fox too, Net was brownish-red in colour all over.

Nettle knew his work as well as his master did. Cautiously looking over the flats, Baulk would watch for the curlews flitting up and over the slub, and when he thought it was near enough for his purpose, he would make a sign to the dog. Away would slip Nettle, but without the least hurry, into the sea-blite and the bents, on his way to the birds. As soon as he was in the right place for it, he would show himself, a little bit at a time, his tail wagging in the herbage. Then he would crouch for a while out of sight. Directly the curlews saw him they would gather round him, shrieking their loudest.

I

Then

was the time to show his tactics. He would first slink away, as if frightened, towards his master, who lay stretched out behind the sea - wall. The din comes nearer, the gun is cocked, the birds are in a bunch overhead. Bang goes the good old single; one bird drops dead, another drops on the slub and wails. This is the one Nettle rushes for at top speed, and he brings it to his master.

Poor Nettle met with a sad end; he was run over by a cart, a very heavy one, and it killed him. The very last time Den saw Baulk, the shore-shooter said at once, mournfully, " Poor old Net!"

Our friend Denzil was much given to extremes in his ways and his behaviour. At times he would be the very life of the little band of scapegraces,

scapegoats" some of their parents called them, with more justice, at times, than they were aware of,— whose company he delighted in; and none would be so full of jokes and yarns as himself. But Scoot complained that after these short outbreaks "you could not get a word out of him, noways, for a week or two; he'd clew right up."

With his tame birds that he managed to keep in some spot or other-his feathered friends and com

panions-he was a different being. All their wants were anticipated; he watched them night and day, and talked to them, the lads said, in their own language. It was certain they understood him. One large brown owl he had which followed him about like a dog, and watched for his coming, yelling at times like a feathered demon if Den remained away too long. In the dusk of the evening he used to walk about with his wise - looking companion perched on his arm, free and unfettered, without one feather in his fine wings missing.

The boy had his faults, like all other boys, but he was never known to mock at sacred things or at any true professor of religion. When he grew older he used to say no true naturalist ever could fail to see and reverence God in His works. Like most other healthy lads, he got into mischief at times, and as inevitably he got what the marsh folks called his "quiltin"." He loved Baulk dearly, and would follow him wherever he could.

Winkle Joe was another of his friends; a palefaced boy, who shuffled along, generally carrying his "winkle" basket, with poor ragged clothing, which seemed hardly to keep his skin and bones together

when he reached the bare " 'winkle hards" three miles away, over which the bitter, cutting east winds blew, sending the curlews wailing and shrieking over the weed - strewn slub. Occasionally, as he passed along, a fisher lass would call to him from the opposite side of the street, and bid him come over and share her meal, tears standing in the impulsive girl's fine eyes at the sight of his woe-begone figure. He always had a grateful word of thanks before he shuffled farther.

When the tides permitted, Joe picked winkles off the ooze, or hards, that fringed the whole length of the marshlands at ebb-tide. Many a bit of clothing was spared for him by the poor as well as the betteroff class, and shoes to keep his feet from frostbite in the bitter weather; in the summer he always went barefoot. He found a sure sale for his winkles after he had boiled them, for they were of the finest-he knew just where to paddle for them. "Pennywink, wink, O!"

"Pennywink!" from old Joe always brought some one or other to the door for a pint of winkles. Sometimes he found them spread, comparatively speaking, thickly on the ooze; at others, especially in cold weather, they lay thinly. If I wished to punish my