POINT SHOOTING. A^7 



seeing no bird, I break down my gun and say to John, 

 "Take up." 



As he crashes through the cane to get the skiff, I 

 unload both guns and put them in their covers, close 

 ammunition box, and begin to carry the things down to 

 the edge of the marsh. John is already among the 

 decoys, taking up first the live ducks — which he puts 

 in their coop — and then the wooden ones, which he 

 stacks neatly in their places. Then, when he pushes 

 the boat to the marsh, I pass him the things from the 

 shore, handing him last of all the ducks, which he packs 

 away on and abaft the decoys, counting them as he lays 

 them down: "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty- 

 nine, thirty, and the hairy crown's thirty-one. A pretty 

 good day's work, sir !" 



I put on my heavy coat and step in the skiff, and 

 while I light my pipe, John pushes the boat through the 

 shallow water, and presently steps the mast and sets 

 the sail, and with a merry ripple the little boat bears us 

 homeward. 



"Well, John, it's my last day, and it has been a good 

 one. I am sorry to go." 



"I wish you could stay longer, sir; but anyhow 

 you've had some good shooting, and you certainly have 

 done right well — better'n I thought you could that first 

 day." 



And so I have. 



