54 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



torn, that scarcely a fish could be coaxed from his- 

 hiding-place. Our boats and ourselves threw strong 

 shadows on the water, sufficient to frighten less wary 

 fish than trout. We, however, took enough for break- 

 fast, and started for home. By the way, is it not a 

 little singular that fish should eat their own flesh? 

 The first one we caught served as bait for the others. 

 As we were returning, Mitchell left the main stream 

 and entered a narrow and shallow channel, that, by 

 making a circuitous route, reached the lake close be- 

 side the river. Passing silently along, we roused up 

 a brood of ducks among the reeds. The mother first 

 took the alarm, and, seeing at a glance that she could 

 not escape with her young, left them and fluttered 

 out directly ahead of our boat. She then began to 

 make a terrible ado, striking her wings on the water, 

 and screaming, and darting backwards and forwards, 

 as if dreadfully wounded and could be easily picked 

 up with a little efl"ort. I instinctively raised my rifle 

 to my shoulder; then, thinking the shot might frighten 

 the deer we were after, I turned to Mitchell and in- 

 quired if I should fire. "I guess I wouldn't," he 

 replied ; "she has young ones." My gun dropped in 

 a moment. I stood rebuked, not only by my own 

 feelings, but by the Indian with me. I was shocked 

 that this hunter, who had lived for so many years on 

 the spoils of the forest, should teach me tenderness of 

 feeling. That mother's voice found an echo in his heart, 

 and he would not harm one feather of her plumage ; 

 nor could the bribe be named that would then have 

 induced me to strike the anxious, aff'ectionate creature. 



