A MORN-ING IN A SCtrLLlNG FLOAT I3 



water. Though keeping a sharp lookout, the sudden 

 flashing of resplendent wings and quavering wee-uks 

 wee-uks of alarm told me I had been caught napping as 

 a wooddrake glittering like an opal sprang from the 

 base of a rat house, offering a perfect chance at 30 

 >ards. Shades of Tom Marshall and "Pop" Heikesl 

 After the previous good work of the morning shall I 

 soon forget the feeling of chagrin that convulsed me 

 when in spite of my best efforts to stop him I had to set 

 and watch that regal beauty depart without leaving be- 

 hind so much as a single feather for my consolation. 

 Yes, dear reader, it is a frozen fact we doubled on that 

 bird with two perfect opportunities and failed to score 

 where practically no skill was required. It is hard to 

 explain, but an open secret we all do it at times. 



Rounding out from the cove a bunch of golden eyes, 

 the season's first, were diving over a gravel bar, but 

 taking flight while still out of range, swung to the foot 

 of the lake and M^ell up, came heading back plainly with 

 the intention of leaving. By cutting under with the float 

 I was enabled to edge in near enough for a chance and 

 wing'tipped a bird that scaled downward on a long slant 

 at terrific speed, striking the surface with such force as 

 sent it glissading end over end for a dozen somersaults 

 ere it gained control and sat up; no doubt in the swift 

 turn of affairs, the most dumbfounded duck in all duck- 

 dom. No hesitating barrel will do for a crippled whistler 



