238 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



first September frosts pinch sharply, steals off to 

 other marshes. Little do we know of the manner 

 of his going and quite forget him usually, till 

 some day in May or early June, he announces 

 his return home by bursting up from the reeds or 

 bulrushes and exploding in chatter and song. 



All the while the canvasbacks had been coming 

 lakewards. Every few moments a flock of 

 twenty or more burst out of the darkening east- 

 ern sky. Lined up like veterans — some of the 

 iWhitish-backed fellows were old-timers — irregu- 

 larly, yet somehow symmetrically ranked, with 

 whirring wings ablur, they shot in against the 

 sun like so many black cannon-balls, and their 

 whizzing resounded through the stillness. Up 

 to the lake-shore they came, then they lowered 

 their big heads and slanted down at a fearful, 

 dizzy angle. There was a rush and crash and 

 crackle as their sharp wings and stout breasts 

 smote the air, then the broken rank of animate 

 projectiles reformed in a twinkling, and, speed- 

 ing off low over the shimmering water, they dis- 

 appeared far out in the lake. 



How different was the coming of the mallard 

 flocks that helped swell the evening flight from 

 the slough. These brown-breasted, whiffle- wing 

 drakes, their green caps already showing gaudy. 



