2i2 Sporting Sketches 



not prepared to state anyway down the trunk he 

 came, running like a young grouse and gathering 

 speed every skip. The pace, however, was a bit too 

 good to last. Halfway down he tripped, or some- 

 thing, and in an instant he was spinning end over 

 end. Rumpity-bump-biff-bang ! Down he came, 

 his last parabolic flight landing him squarely on top 

 of the small group of brothers and sisters. He fell 

 more different ways at one trial than anything ever 

 I saw, yet the bouncing did not appear to hurt him 

 in the least. I suspect he was the one last hatched, 

 for he seemed much less strong and nimble than 

 the others. 



Shortly after his spectacular arrival, the mother 

 led the brood straight across the exposed strip at a 

 smart pace. All were running their best before the 

 cover was reached, mother and young appearing to 

 have an equal dread of the bare sand. In a few 

 seconds they were in the cover next the water, and 

 shortly after in the water itself. I could not see 

 them enter, but in a short time the mother sculled 

 slyly along the edge of a mat of weeds. She swam 

 deeply, as though striving to make herself as incon- 

 spicuous as possible, and at her tail were the young 

 all crowded together like a small woollen mat and 

 occupying no more room than might have been 

 covered by an ordinary dinner plate. Under a tent- 

 like mass of wild grape-vines she halted and I went 

 down to my canoe, for I was anxious to see a bit 

 more of them. 



Had I not marked their hiding-place, the duck- 

 lings never would have been disepvered. As it was, 

 there was need for the sharpest scrutiny to locate 



