AN IDYL OF LITTLE RIVER 23 



widgeon which the swamper had domesticated. Madam 

 Widgeon only returned from her nest in the flag with 

 this one yomigster, and Pete said: ''She was alius a 

 hoUerin' ever sence she was born, and I don't reckon 

 she'll quit till she dies." 



I am sure had that cross-bred little lady been per- 

 mitted to remain two hours longer in that pond, she 

 would have had it so packed with wildfowl that no more 

 could crowd in. She was the last duck that we gathered, 

 and when we put her in the bow of the heavily-laden 

 duck boat she stood on top of a sleepy old drake, and 

 violent cried her siren song all the way home. 



Peter pushed the boat home through by a route hitherto 

 unknown to me. Always through the heavy timber he 

 seemed to sense the w^ay of egress rather by instinct than 

 sight. The grass grew taller, the timber heavier and 

 the density of the moss beds apparently defied progress. 

 But the native never looked, seemingly bending his head 

 in half-somnolent state, the small craft invariably found 

 a passageway of water in the tangles just large enough 

 for it. Kepeatedly I thought the water route had ab- 

 ruptly terminated, but Pete still pushed on nonchalantly 

 and water would appear before us only in boat-length 

 bodies, though always sufficient for our passage, and, 

 too, we were drawing several inches more of water than 

 is usually allotted to a. duck boat on account of our big 

 kill. 



