THE CANADA GOOSE 257 



going to stare? Everything is ready. Let's 

 move!" A hurried gathering of war material 

 and you make for the shore where waits the 

 float. With a piece of ice on her long, low bow 

 and a rim of snow along her gunwales your 

 craft, showing not more than six or eight inches 

 above water, is hardly to be told from an ice- 

 cake at fifty yards distance. You take the oars 

 and drive the boat over the waves, perhaps with 

 a touch of selfish joy that there is no other craft 

 in sight. A mile away from the geese your 

 friend says, "Now, pull in your oars and let me 

 scull. I don't dare risk rowing any further." 

 So you settle yourself down contentedly to let 

 this willing worker toil for you. Down you 

 go, laying your lazy length in the bottom of the 

 float, with not even the tip of your nose to show 

 above the gunwale, your head upon your com- 

 rade's knees, and as the spring sunshine plays 

 upon your face you think goose-shooting is not 

 such hard work after all. Your spirit is lulled 

 into a deep content and restfulness by the mo- 

 notonous, muffled "frwwp-bump frwwp-bump" 

 of the sculling oar, and even the muttered curse 

 of your companion, whose wrist begins to tire, 

 is not altogether able to dispel your happiness. 



