388 DUCK SHOOTING. 



I do not know how other men feel about missing, 

 especially about missing easy shots, but it plunges me 

 into an abyss of shame and mortification from which 

 I do not easily emerge. At the best of times I am a 

 very bad shot, and often my missing makes me declare 

 that I will give up shooting altogether. When, how- 

 ever, the time comes for me to get an outing again, I 

 forget all about my past misses and start forth as hope- 

 ful and as free from anxiety about missing as if I were 

 a good shot instead of being a villainously bad one. 

 So I mourned over this miss, and felt horribly ashamed 

 that John, and even that Gunner, had been witnesses 

 of my disgrace. 



As I sat there thinking of this, John whispered 

 "Mark behind," and, turning my head, I saw a pair of 

 mallards — a big greenhead and a duck — almost over 

 me. To grasp my gun and throw it to my shoulder 

 seemed but a second's work ; but in a second a duck can 

 go a long way, especially down wind, and by the time 

 the muzzle of my gun was pointed in the birds' general 

 direction they had passed over us and were far beyond 

 the decoys. 



In desperation I fired both barrels, and again I heard 

 Gunner rush to the water's edge, saw him look in vain 

 for something to bring in, and saw the ducks like a 

 pair of disjointed parentheses melt into the gray sky 

 and disappear. 



"Those two came badly, sir," ventured John. "Yes, 

 they came badly," I replied, "but we ought to have been 

 looking out for them." 



