[Chap. 11, 



PARA. 2.] 



though some do scoff at his habit of haunting muddy 

 village pools. You have plenty of Spotbill, aptly 

 named from their curious variegated beaks, and not a 

 few Gadwall, very sporting movers, with speckled heads, 

 pencilled breasts, black and white wing-bands, and the 

 tell-tale, brown patch on the wing-coverts. Oh ! Here 

 is something out of the way for your part of the 

 country. What is it? It is a rather drab, middle-sized 

 Duck and it has no distinctive wing band. But it has 

 a very short and slightly tapering bill, grey, with a 

 black tip. Something stirs in your recollection. You 

 look among the rest of your bag, and now you have it. 

 She is a female Wigeon. You would not mistake a 

 male in a full plumage, if you had ever seen one, dis- 

 tinguished as he is by his chestnut head with cream 

 blaze, pinky breast, white shoulders and green speculum. 

 But the lady ■?('(/ s a bit of a })uzzle. 



Now the friend parted from earlier in the morning 

 came and picked the writer up. Bags were compared 

 and the friend was found to have slightly the smaller. 

 It is a mean mind that drives satisfaction from these 

 little things, but there is at least consolation in finding 

 that you have been doing better than you yourself 

 supposed. Anything over thirty-five brace was good, 

 and the total bag was over eight hundred for the 

 morning. 



