30 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
archly looks around, as if to say, “Are you coming? 
Are you coming?” He seems to interpret her inmost 
thoughts, rises on his feet, preens himself, and hastily 
swims, following her, while there issues from his vel- 
vet covered throat alow, vibrating ‘* M-amph, M-amph,” 
which causes the blood of the hunter to tingle with 
electric fervor. As some dark object passes between 
us and the sun, a flitting shadow is cast upon the water. 
Without moving our body oureyesare cast up, and we see 
a pair coming in, decoyed by those in the water. They 
seem to stand in the air, momentarily held up by their 
swift moving, fluttering wings. We hear the “ whew” 
of their wings, as the slight breeze carries the sound to 
us, and slowly dropping, gracefully descending, sus- 
tained by their strong wings, they alight beside their 
friends, exchanging low chuckling greetings, and each 
pair swims off by themselves. At this time we notice 
what we have so often seen before,—the marked con- 
trast between the male and female mallard, in both 
beauty and size. The male is larger, stronger, and en- 
dowed with more brilliant plumage. 
The breeding place of the mallard, like all other 
water-fowl, is in the far North, and yet as the season 
advances from early to late, snow storms, rough weather, 
cold March winds, winds that have forgotten the time 
they were due, and with their noisy howl and dismal 
shrieking, convert what should be balmy April into a 
cold, disagreeable, almost wintry month. The cold 
winds and raw days, seem at times to unsettle the 
ducks, and they delay their departure from time to time 
until spring lapses intosummer. Before this time they 
have discovered luxuriant feeding grounds, food in 
plenty, and solitary retreats in vast marshes of wild 
