WINTER PICTURES 



she was intruding upon the society of her betters. 

 She would approach a little, and then, as the stiff, 

 aristocratic decoys made no sign of welcome or re- 

 cognition, she would sidle off again. " Who are they, 

 that they should hold themselves so loftily and never 

 condescend to notice a forlorn duck ? " I imagined 

 her saying. Should I spring up and show my hand 

 and demand her surrender ? It was clearly my duty 

 to do so. I wondered if the boys were looking from 

 shore, for the fog had lifted a little. But I must 

 act, or the duck would be off. I began to turn slowly . 

 in my sepulchre and to gather up my benumbed 

 limbs; I then made a rush and got up, and had a 

 fairly good shot as the duck flew across my bows, 

 but I failed to stop her. A man in the woods in the 

 line of my shot cried out angrily, "Stop shooting 

 this way!" 



I lay down again and faced the sun, that had 

 now burned its way through the fog, till I was nearly 

 blind, but no more ducks decoyed, and I called out 

 to be relieved. . 



With our one duck, but with many pleasant 

 remembrances, we returned to Washington that 

 afternoon. 



