A Day with tbe Woodcock 175 



Ned," for Jones was a market hunter in a small way 

 and of course had to be treated cautiously. 



Eight o'clock on Sunday night, after sundry 

 manoeuvres to escape scrutiny, saw man and pointer 

 settling themselves in a Peterboro canoe for their 

 five-mile paddle upon the currentless, waveless river. 

 The dog deposited himself in the bow, with his keen 

 nose resting on the 'wale and ever searching the 

 air for trace of game as they moved noiselessly 

 along. In the centre of the craft was a beautiful 

 hammerless, the shells and a canvas shooting coat, 

 while near the stern knelt the proprietor of the 

 outfit, slowly plying his paddle. 



It was a close, sultry night, with as yet no sign of 

 rain, in spite of Duckett's prophecy of the previous 

 day. But it felt like a shower, and as the paddler 

 paused to relight his pipe, when half the journey 

 was done, he took a glance at his watch and thought, 

 " Nine o'clock I'll be an hour late ; but the old boy 

 was correct about the rain, for unless my judgment 

 is astray, it will arrive in the shape of a thunder 

 storm ere this jaunt is done." 



But the storm was distant yet, and he was in no hurry 

 and moved but lazily until the moon climbed above 

 the dark phalanx of silent trees and flooded the 

 stream with silvery light. It was a familiar scene. 

 Right well did he know every foot of that motionless 

 water gleaming between vague, shadowy banks, and 

 where the velvety shadows ended and the dim, 

 uncertain shores began. Had it been darkest night 

 he could have sent the canoe speeding along and 

 never touched one of the many snags and sunken 

 trees that marked the way. Ere long many fish 



