105 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
covers the object aimed at. His aspirations are greater, 
and quickly aiming first one place, then another, he sees 
that he has made adouble. Regretfully sighing he puts 
the gun away, and looking round spies his wife stand- 
ing looking smilingly at him. He thinks to act indif- 
ferently and tells her he was looking at his gun, “ afraid 
it would rust.” She looks at him archly and replies, 
“ Guns must rust very easily, for you examined yours 
only yesterday.” They go out together on that bright 
Sunday afternoon, the melted snow coursing in tiny 
rivulets down descending places, the bright sunshine 
greeting with affectionate glances all the earth, the blue 
birds flitting, the robins caroling,—all nature glad at 
the approach of spring. ‘The wife talks of house clean- 
ing, of papering, of spring repairs, of flowers throwing 
out sweet incense of perfume, of roses, pinks, hyacinths, 
and lilies, and how the flower beds will be made, how 
the blooming flowers will blossom prolifically,—thus she 
walks so sprightly, thus she talks so lightly, wondering 
at his silence. Was he listening? Yes, so far as a man 
could, while his thoughts were far away, down in the 
depths of some deep wood, where the rising water had 
overflowed the banks, leaving slight ridges where acorns 
were abundant. His wife turns suddenly and looks at. 
his face. She sees him looking at the sky so reverentially. 
Allowing her sight to drift in the same direction, what 
does she see? Golden—lined clouds floating slowly 
through the air, driven by the mild south wind? Nothing 
of the kind. Instead, she sees about a dozen geese flying 
north, led by an old honking gander. How does this 
compare with the reader's experience ? But never mind, 
don’t plead guilty,—the liuw presumes you innocent until 
actual guilt is proven. 
3) 
