A MORNING IN A SCULLING FLOAT 5 



A glowing grate within the snug confines of the shack 

 served to keep the chill at bay and at intervals as I sat 

 enjoying the sweet solace of a pipe of fine cut, from 

 without came a sound as of a muffled sigh, like the low 

 sough of the wind among the pines. 



It came from the rigid wings of coasting fowl slanting 

 low just over the shanty's roof tree as they came slipping 

 in under the ghostly light of the late October moon. 

 Of more than one kind were they I knew, for from first 

 to last during the years had we killed on this little sheet 

 so favored of wildfowl the full range of si^ecies from 

 tiny teal to the grey November goose. 



At the Hermit's back porch whose steps were nearly 

 laved by the overflow hung the glass and with a desire 

 to read it I opened wide the door and as the light 

 streamed out a bunch of dusky duck went skyward from 

 behind the chopping block, breaking the stillness with 

 throb of heavy wing beat and raoous quacking. 



Morning came to look upon a world stiffened and 

 white with hoar frost and so abrupt had been the drop 

 from warmth to cold that the whole valley lay wrapped 

 under a blanket of fog of astounding density. Some- 

 where, out in the thick of it were fat fowl, disporting 

 and at rest. But with the most conspicuous objects 

 blotted out at a ten-foot distance, the problem of find- 

 ing them under these conditions, made the proverbial 

 * 'needle in a hay-stack" proposition seem easy in com- 

 parison. , 



