He had never before
seen herons flying over the sea, for they are shore-keeping birds,
and partly because this had startled him out of his drowsiness, and
more because the long delay of the schooner kept his cupboard empty,
he took down his rusty shot-gun, of which the barrel was tied on with
a piece of string, and followed them towards the pools.
When he came close enough to hear the sighing of the rushes in the
outermost pool, the morning was grey over the world, so that the tall
rushes, the still waters, the vague clouds, the thin mists lying
among the sand-heaps, seemed carved out of an enormous pearl. In a
little he came upon the herons, of whom there were a great number,
standing with lifted legs in the shallow water; and crouching down
behind a bank of rushes, looked to the priming of his gun, and bent
for a moment over his rosary to murmur: 'Patron Patrick, let me shoot
a heron; made into a pie it will support me for nearly four days, for
I no longer eat as in my youth. If you keep me from missing I will
say a rosary to you every night until the pie is eaten.' Then he lay
down, and, resting his gun upon a large stone, turned towards a heron
which stood upon a bank of smooth grass over a little stream that
flowed into the pool; for he feared to take the rheumatism by wading,
as he would have to do if he shot one of those which stood in the
water.
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