SHOOTING MALLARDS IN A SNOW STORM. 81 
water, that would cause a duck to float for fifty yards 
before we could possibly retrieve it, and compel us to 
return against the swift current. Besides, the deep 
thickness of the branches overhead would scatter the 
charge of shot, making it almost impossible to shoot 
with effect. 
To the north of us I saw ducks flying low, as if seek- 
ing a spot to feed; then saw them drop through the 
trees and disappear from sight, not returning. I knew 
that we had found their retreat, and that where they 
lit we would find shallow water, possibly a little land. 
We found it as I expected. Selecting an open place, 
as open as we could among the thick trees, we put our 
decoys out, and located ourselves so that the ducks 
when killed would fall above and be carried toward 
us by the current. We stood in water a foot deep. 
Nosooner in the blind than five mallards bowed their 
wings above the decoys. A long shot, but I succeeded 
in making a double. Harry did not shoot, “afraid he 
would spoil my shot,” said he. I then said to him, 
“Shells are plenty, and ducks also. You will never 
learn to shoot unless you try. Stay close to me and 
bang away at every bird that gets near you.” “ An- 
other thing, Harry,” said I, “hold well ahead of every 
bird you shoot at. I know it’s hard to do so, for the 
inclination is strong, indeed, hardly to be resisted on 
the part of a beginner, to shoot right at the duck. It 
looks so large and is such a nice object to fire at. Then 
again, he just can’t shoot at the air—he will aim at the 
duck, then feeling he should obey, draws ahead. He 
is pointing at thin air, a foot or two ahead. Behind 
this thin air he sees a beautiful green head, glossy 
feathers, perhaps a bright pears eye, the thought 
