then they must find shelter, or be dashed on the shore. They know when the storm is brewing in good time, generally; and, before it bursts, seek safety in the creeks. That was Den's time for observation. The ice broke up on the ooze after a few fierce tides, the outcome of the storm, had rushed up, and the masses whirled, crashed, and ground in all directions. It was fearful weather, but the diving-ducks must have food if they can possibly get it; and there the lad watched them diving and coming to the surface again between the blocks of floating ice. The birds got poor after a week or two of rough weather, and were then of very little use either as specimens for the bird-preserver or to eat. Their plumage looked water-washed and draggled.

One might think it impossible for water-fowl to get drowned, especially the divers, and yet they frequently are; for when they are floating ten, fifteen, or twenty miles out at sea, and the storm bursts on them in all its fury before they can reach a lee shore, they get dashed down on the waves as if they were so many gnats instead of strong, swift-winged birds; and they are killed by the blows they receive from the waves

they have been wont to ride over in such joyous confidence. More than that, they are unable to keep their plumage in its proper condition, and, in spite of the old saw about water running off a duck's back, they soon get wet through, and so drown in the most miserable manner. Then they are washed on shore, to become the prey of all the gulls and hooded crows about the place. The winged scavengers of the coast-line seem to gather together over such spoil in an incredibly quick fashion; it does not lie long on the shore. Many, in fact, get torn in pieces by the huge dog-fish as they float in.

It was a blessed relief to man and bird and beast when that hard winter gave way to the gentler gales that ushered in the spring.

CHAPTER

XVI.

THE BAILIFFS OF THE MARSHLANDS.

IN the days of Denzil's youth the marshlands were the home-the breeding-place-of fever and ague. Those scourges of the flats visited the dwellers constantly, more or less severely according to the seasons. Sometimes, after a spell of hot weather, the wind would change to a colder quarter and send the thick mists rolling over the flats charged with all the dread exhalations of the swamps. Then, not only did the dwellers on the marshes suffer, but the inhabitants of the fishing villages as well. A thick cold mist enveloped all the district.

One evening Den came home from an expedition with the fishers that had lasted for some days, and he found father, mother, and two brothers all down with fever and ague. The next day he was stricken

The

himself, and the whole family lay helpless. news soon reached the fishing quarter that the fever was of a more dangerous sort than ordinary, and that the doctor said the patients would need careful watching and nursing to give them a chance for life. Many were the comments, in no measured language, on the obstinacy and heartlessness of those relatives at the big house up street, whose duty it was to forget and dismiss all ill feeling, and to come and minister to the needs of the family on the marsh. Laurence longed to go to his friend's aid, but he was not suffered to do so; and when the mother's people saw it was hopeless to expect help from that quarter, they volunteered freely, both the young and older women relieving each other constantly as nurses. What a dreary, painful time that was! For a number of weeks the whole family lay helpless, hovering between life and death, racked with pain, longing at night that it might be morning; and when the day came, wishing night was there once more.

Scoot and Winder were away with their fathers at the fishing at the time Den fell ill. As soon as they got into harbour, before they had time to hear the news, they ran down to "hail Reed-bird."

"It du seem

onnatural quiet," remarked

Winder when they had reached the fever-stricken place; and, seeing all closed and no stir of life, had strolled about a little.

"I'll just give him a bit o' a hail," said Scoot.

Before his hail, which was by no means a weak one, could be repeated, the house door was opened, and one of their own fisher lasses beckoned to them without a word.

As soon as they were within speaking distance, she bade them stop where they were and not come

nearer.

"What's in the wind, Polly? Whativer's brought you up here?" asked Winder.

"Denzil an' all his people is near dyin' with the fever; I've cum tu take my spell o' the nursin'. Don't ye cum no farther, it ain't safe; 'tis a catchin' fever. An' don't ye speak above yer breath fur tu disturb 'em."

In spite of Polly's injunctions the faithful friends at once walked up to the door.

"We ain't afeard o' no fever, Polly," said Scoot. "How long has this bad job been on? Do ye think, Polly, as we could just see him an' cheer him up a