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yacht which the evening before had dropped anchor in the bight of the cape.

On they came with bang after bang of the terrible guns. The birds rose before them and whirled away in swarms. One at a time the hunters dropped behind each other and hid themselves among the dunes. At last only one man was in sight far down the shore.

This wet beach, with its shallow pools here and there left by the receding tides, was a favorite feeding place for the birds, and they were loath to leave it. So, after being driven to the extremity of their range by the solitary hunter, many flocks circled him and turned again up the beach. This quickly brought them within range of one of the concealed hunters; and then another, and a few moments later still another was shooting into their midst.

Back and forth, up and down, the terrified birds flew, calling and calling constantly, while through it all ever sounded the danger cries of the faithful yellow-legs. Every way the flocks turned they encountered a gun whose discharge tore murderously through their ranks. For many hours this killing continued, and when at length the hunters went their way, they carried with them long strings of birds, as well as full hunting bags.

Many were shot and fell, but the hunters failed to find them. Bib-neck saw a wounded one that flew out over the breakers, sink lower and lower until it fell. For a time it rode the waves, but these at length beat out its life; and long after the gunners had gone he watched its small white body as it rose and fell on the billows, drifting out to sea.

Soon after this a flock of large, fine-looking birds was seen feeding on the beach. If the old plovers had really known, they might have told their children that these birds were plovers also, their relatives, the black-bellied plovers who live in the far north and were now on their way south, like so many other birds, to spend the winter months. The sight of these birds stirred Bib-neck's spirit the more, for a great longing had grown in his mind to fly away to the southward with the migrating multitudes.

One evening a company of sandpipers and plovers came flying overhead. They called and piped so loudly that the plover family thought it was time for them to heed the warning. So they arose from the beach and, bidding farewell to the waves and the dunes and the nodding sea oats, joined the travelers, and soon all were lost to view, flying southward, southward toward the shores of perpetual summer.


ONCE there was a little starfish who had five fingers and five eyes, — one at the end of each finger, — so that he might be said to have at least one power at his finger's end. And he had, I can't tell you how many little feet; but being without legs, you see, he couldn't be expected to walk very fast. The feet couldn't move one before the other as yours do — they could only cling like little suckers, by which he pulled himself slowly along from place to place; nevertheless he was very proud of this accomplishment, and sometimes this

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