WINTER PICTURES. 259 



giuia colored man's study of that craft ? Its wheels 

 consisted each of two timbers crossing each other at 

 right angles. As the shaft slowly turned, these tim- 

 bers pawed and pa^ed the water. It hove to on the 

 flats near our quarters, and a colored man came off 

 in a boat. To our inquiry, he said with a grin that 

 his craft was a " floating saw-mill." 



After a while I took my turn in the box, and, with 

 a life-preserver for a pillow, lay there on my back, 

 pressed down between the narrow sides, the muzzle 

 of my gun resting upon my toe and its stock upon 

 my stomach, waiting for the silly ducks to come. I 

 was rather in hopes they would not come, for I felt 

 pretty certain that I could not get up promptly in 

 such narrow quarters and deliver my shot with any 

 precision. As nothing could be seen, and as it was 

 very still, it was a good time to listen again. I was 

 virtually under water, and in a good medium for the 

 transmission of sounds. The barking of dogs on the 

 Maryland shore was quite audible, and I heard with 

 great distinctness a Maryland lass call some one to 

 breakfast. They were astir up at Mount Vernon, 

 too, though the fog hid them from view. I heard 

 the mocking or Carolina wren along shore calling 

 quite plainly the words a Georgetown poet has put 

 in his mouth, " Sweet-heart, sweet-heart, sweet ! " 

 Presently I heard the whistle of approaching wings, 

 and a solitary duck alighted back of me over my right 

 shoulder just the most awkward position forme 

 she could have assumed. I raised my head a little, 



