254 WINTER PICTURES. 



with the line a little more pronounced in the centre, 

 where the sportsman lies entombed, to be quickly 

 resurrected when the game appears. He lies there 

 stark and stiff upon his back, like a marble effigy 

 upon a tomb, his gun by his side, with barely room 

 to straighten himself in, and nothing to look at but 

 the sky above him. His companions on shore keep 

 a lookout, and, when ducks are seen on the wing, cry 

 out, "Mark, coming up," or " Mark, coming down," 

 or, "Mark, coming in,", as the case may be. If they 

 decoy, the gunner presently hears the whistle of their 

 wings, or may be he catches a glimpse of them over 

 the rim of the box, as they circle about. Just as they 

 let down their feet to alight, he is expected to spring 

 up and pour his broadside into them. A boat from 

 shore comes and picks up the game, if there is any 

 to pick up. 



The club-man, by common consent, was the first 

 in the box that morning ; but only a few ducks were 

 moving, and he had lain there an hour before we 

 marked a solitary bird approaching, and, after cir- 

 cling over the decoys, alighting a little beyond them. 

 The sportsman sprang up as from the bed of the 

 river, and the duck sprang up at the same time, and 

 got away, under fire. After a while my other com- 

 panion went out; but the ducks passed by on the 

 other side, and he had no shots. In the afternoon, 

 remembering the robins, and that robins are game 

 when one's larder is low, I set out alone for the pine 

 bottoms, a mile or more distant. When one is loaded 



