358 FEATHERED GAME 



marsh. Landward the only indication of bird 

 life is the scream of the jay or the distant caw- 

 ing of the crows, southward bound. Winter is 

 close at hand. There is a sting in the wind, a 

 nip in the air, and the fingers are numb and blue 

 as they hold the gun barrels. But out on the 

 water, careless of wind or wave, rides a flock of 

 ''Squaws'* making always a merry clatter. 

 Ever and anon some of their number rise 

 against the breeze to dart off at lightning speed, 

 apparently in the mere enjoyment of flight, for, 

 circling a half a mile about, they plump down 

 again among their comrades, all the time noisily 

 calling to each other. We might almost say 

 they are the only song birds among the ducks, 

 for really their notes are very pleasant to hear 

 and quite musical in comparison with the usual 

 vocal production of the family. 



Undisturbed they have made holiday and 

 raised their broods during the short Arctic 

 summer, but now, driven by snow and ice from 

 these pleasant quarters, they bring their young- 

 sters southward along the coasts of New Eng- 

 land and the Middle Atlantic States for the 

 winter, dwelling offshore from the St. Lawrence 

 to the Potomac. 



