65 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
game, our boat, and our hunting outfit. We leave all 
but the guns here till morning, too tired to be encum- 
bered with anything but them. Our weary limbs are 
dragged homeward. The blinds are opened; a light 
shines brightly at the window. It signifies nothing to 
the casual passer-by, but to us it is a telegram, notify- 
ing us that a warm supper and loving hearts are anxious- 
ly awaiting our return. Our step on the walk is soft 
and low, but not soft enough nor low enough to deceive 
him who waits the coming of his master. A joyous 
bark announces our arrival, and we feel— 
“¢>Tis sweet to hear the watch dog’s honest bark, 
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home.”’ 
