216 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
surface, while they leave in their wake tiny waves that 
soon dissolve on the smooth bosom of the lake. We 
creep continuously along. The boat scarcely moves. 
It does seem, as if we ought to get up ducks here; 
everything is favorable to it, and—Aha! We both saw 
it at the same time,—down at our left in that thin grass a 
head arose, but for an instant, then sunk down. We 
know there are ducks there. We both sink lower into 
the boat; you lean forward, peering through the top of 
the muskrat blind, where we made a slight peep-hole 
with bended rushes. The boat goes a trifle faster. Right 
in front of us the mud-hens swim, just keeping clear of 
the bow. The ducks are on a narrow ridge of the lake, 
just out of gun shot from either shore. Look! Look! 
Feast your eyes on the heads and necks to be seen 
through the straggling grass, the pin-tails, and widgeon 
and a wild lot they are. The most difficult bird in the 
world to scull. They are looking at us, all suspicion, 
They are wondering what this muskrat house, so far 
out in the deep water is doing. Hear them chatter! 
We are about a hundred yards away and must now 
barely move the boat. They don’t act right, are un- 
easy and I’m afraid they will—There! Just as I ex- 
pected! All this work for nothing! Away they go! 
How we wish we were near them. I do like to shoot 
pin-tails, because—* Sh—down ! down! Don’t you see 
him, standing up right at the point where the others 
flew from.” Strange he didn’t notice you when you 
raised up to see those flying away. Isn’t he a beauty! 
A male pin-tail. How he stands up, watching the float. 
Just look at his elegant position, standing as he is. He 
is frightened. Still, his curiosity has gotten the better 
ot him; his long slender neck, and clean-cut body, with 
