THE SPORT OF BIRD STUDY 



CHAPTER I 



THE APPEAL OF THE SPORT 



I'VE got the Wood Duck, I've got the Wood Duck, 

 I've got him, I've got him!" This excited 

 yelling brought me through the thicket in a 

 hurry, out to the margin of the boggy pond. I arrived 

 just in time to see my fifteen-year-old enthusiast caper- 

 ing like a jumping-jack, and catch a glimpse of a flying 

 duck disappearing like a meteor. 



"Got him, have you?" I said. "Produce him, then! 

 Spread him out and let's look him over. Then we'll 

 have roast duck!" 



"He's just gone out there through those trees," cried 

 Ned, indicating the course of the recent meteorite, " and 

 I'm dead sure it's a Wood Duck, positive ! That makes 

 number 149 on my year's list, and I know there's a 

 brood of Black Ducks in here, too; I heard one quack- 

 ing. If I see them, that will make 150. Oh, it just 

 makes me crazy!" 



"Yes, that was a Wood Duck all right. I saw it go," 

 I replied, "and you've certainly got him to your credit, 



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