THE DEOWNED LANDS. 229 



close coverts of the reeds, Lou Jackson, in particular, 

 firing very exact, although her gun was so light that the 

 game sometimes refused to come down. We were a 

 good deal together, as we were paddling more to return 

 than to get game, and only shot those birds we saw on 

 our way. Once, while paddling fast, a wood-duck drake 

 arose from an open pool, uttering his wheezing cry of 

 "Oh hee!" "Oh hee!" as he stretched away. Lou 

 fired, and at the shot he staggered and sunk for a mo- 

 ment, while a dozen feathers floated away, and then he 

 rose again. 



" Stop ! stop !" she cried, as I raised my gun to shoot, 

 " I hit him ! I hit him I" 



But the duck didn't fall, and continued his flight until 

 lost in the distance. 



" Oh, what a fool I was ! I forgot all about I had 

 another barrel ! And why didn't I let you shoot ? But 

 I thought, to be sure, he would fall." 



" "Why didn't you shoot, Doctor ?" I asked. 



" Oh, I thought he would fall, too." 



Sometimes we would come across a floating log sur- 

 rounded by feathers, and worn smooth by the tread of 

 the wood-ducks that would sit here half the day pluming 

 themselves by the mirror of the water. The hazel- 

 breasted drakes here displayed their Tyrian plumage and 

 elegant shapes to their dove-eyed consorts, and scolded 

 away the little bitterns that alone could compare in 

 beauty to themselves, and who alike with them inhabited 

 these great morasses. "We sometimes would suddenly 



