SHOOTING MALLARDS IN A SNOW STORM. 85 
I stood behind him. It seemed as if I could see the 
gun follow my suggestions. The loud report rung 
through the woods, and the drake fell with a splash, 
dead in the water. Harry turned to me excited and 
delighted, throwing his wet arm around my neck, and 
tenderly said : 
“William! thou hast taught me to kill the flying 
duck, and I thank thee for it! Many a time and oft 
have I tried in vain to do this thing, but have failed. 
Thy experience and thy. skill hath disclosed to me the 
secret of thy success,—and I am indebted to thee for 
it.” 
Imagine the scene, dear reader—there in the soli- 
tude of the forest. I felt that the necessities of the oc- 
casion demanded a reply on my part, but appropriate 
language failed me—he was embracing me tenderly. I 
came near telling him not to lean quite so heavily 
against me, but thought that entirely out of place, con- 
sidering his eloquent speech. Gulping down a piece 
of apple, nearly choking myself, it brought tears to my 
eyes. Harry, not knowing the cause of the tears, 
thought they were the result of his eloquence. I had 
by this time regained my self-possession and said : 
“Tf thy heart hath taught thee that thou art indebt- 
ed to me, thy debt is cancelled. Did not thy friends 
trust thee to go to the deep woods with me, and should 
not I disclose to thee the secrets of mine experience ? 
Follow but my advice. Thou may’st not hit the “ crow ” 
so often, but the swift flying duck will be at thy 
mercy.” 
“Will!” said he. ‘“ What?” said I. “ Thou hast 
placed me under lasting obligation to thee for this day’s 
sport. When the heat of the summer’s sun hath caused 
