JCHN’S ISLAND 
‘“ A rustle of wings from over there 
Where all night long on watery bed 
The flocks have slept—and the mornin = air 
Rings with messengers of lead.”’ 
“‘Tr’s an awfully pretty day,’’ said Jimmy. ‘‘Where 
do you think we had better go to get a good shoot?” 
It was a fine day, too fine apparently for good shoot- 
ing, but we were bound to go somewhere and try. 
‘“They say a big flight of green-winged teal came in 
yesterday. I’ve heard for the last ten years that John’s 
Island was the best place for teal on the marsh; what 
do you say to trying it there to-day?” 
“‘Huh!”’ said Jimmy in a disgusted way, ‘‘nobody 
shoots at John’s Island now, nobody’s shot there for 
years. It’s high and dry. What’s the good of going 
there ?”’ 
‘“Where do you want to go?’”’ I asked. 
““Over on the North Shore,” said Jimmy promptly, 
‘that’s the place to-day.”’ 
“You said the south point sink box was the place 
yesterday and we only shot fifteen ducks,’’ I answered. 
“No, we'll try John’s Island to-day; I havea hunch we'll 
get a good shoot on teal. What’s the best way to get 
there?” 
‘It’s twenty minutes’ walk across the marsh,”’ an- 
swered Jimmy, ‘‘or a good hour’s row round by the river. 
We have so much to carry I guess I better get the boat, 
88 
