WiLp-FowL or WiLp-FowL 
vasback started from her canopied nest in a clump 
of rushes, just as 1 had caught a glimpse of the 
bulky mass of stems and down. I realize how in- 
adequate is the power of words to convey the full 
impression of such a scene and the interest and 
excitement of such a moment. Though I have seen 
it enacted hundreds of times, I would willingly 
framip) miles to experience that thrill once more. 
For one thing, at such a time the mind is in a state 
of expectancy through the effort of the search. 
The wildness of those prairie lakes adds to its 
charm. Every clump of thick vegetation suggests 
limitless depths of possibility, and success comes 
frequently enough not to allow hope and expec- 
tancy to flag. And when it does come “it is so 
sudden,’’ that rustling of the grass, the beating of 
wings, the sight at close quarters of the noble bird 
rising from the mysterious fastness. Every nerve 
is strained to note each marking and detail in that 
brief, fleeting instant, into which a whole day of 
life is crowded. It takes training of eye and mind 
to so utilize that golden speck of time that there 
shall not afterward be the regret of a confused mind 
and an unidentified nest. Then comes the delicious 
expectancy of the approach to the clump, the peer- 
ing in, the first sight of the hidden treasure. The 
whole scene is one of Nature, inanimate and living, 
at her best. In this spirit, with enthusiasm aglow, 
I watched the swift Canvasback until she disap- 
peared behind some rushes, and then peered into 
the bed of down. Nine dark eggs there were, and 
two strangers, the smooth white eggs of a Redhead 
that had laid in the wrong nest. Neither the hot 
187 
