GREEN FROGS AND A BOTTLE OF BEER 41 
high up over the blind. I gave them both barrels 
without starting a single feather. 
I lighted my pipe to smooth my ruffled feelings, then 
glanced upwards; another pair of mallards were passing 
overhead. They were fifty yards high and going faster 
than usual, probably because they saw me move when 
I picked up the gun. I wanted them so badly that 
perhaps a little overanxiety was mixed up with my aim, 
which resulted in a clean and beautiful—double miss. 
A little bunch of five mallards came flying fast and 
almost out of shot again from the south. They were 
very high and I was fearful my double gun would not 
do business at their altitude. Jimmy had left his pump 
gun in the blind and knowing his gun was extra full 
choke, I picked it up and got ready. The mallards 
were a good deal higher than the last pair, but I let go 
four shells. Two mallards came tumbling down and 
at the same time a voice off in the reeds called, ‘“‘Say 
there! whose shooting my pump gun?”’ 
“Iam,” I called back, ‘‘five mallards came over so 
high I was afraid it would strain my double gun to shoot 
at them.”’ 
“You can use my gun all you want to,’ called the 
voice, ‘‘when I’m awake, but don’t shoot it when I’m 
asleep. My gun makes such a ferocious roar it wakes 
me up.” 
A great many ducks came in from the south but 
nearly all were flying so high as to be secure from all 
danger. Not the least notice was taken of my most per- 
suasive call. They just attended to their own business 
and flew northward until out of sight. They were 
mostly mallards and pintails. A few of the smaller 
ducks gave me an occasional visit. The biggest flock 
was a bunch of ten teal. They also came from the 
