Wood-Duck and Wood- Duck Shooting 213 



them after the mother had flown. She did not go 

 more than forty yards before pitching to the water, 

 and she was in a perfect torment of anxiety. The 

 young were packed together under the vine roots, 

 but I managed to drive them all out. I was curious 

 to learn if they could dive, and so soon as they had 

 been forced clear of the cover, all but one answered 

 the question by promptly going under. The one 

 fellow for I knew he was the " fat boy " who had 

 flip-flapped down the tree, strove mightily to go 

 under, too, but he couldn't. He could put his head 

 under and up-end all right, but to save his life he 

 couldn't induce his fluffy posterior to follow the 

 head. The wee paddles worked, bravely kicking 

 drops of water at a great rate ; but either the coat 

 was too dry or the machinery too new, for the best 

 he could do was to circle about in an irresistibly 

 comical manner. Finally I laid hold of the fleecy 

 tuft that served for his tail and lifted him to my 

 knee. His beady eyes had a peculiarly wild gleam, 

 and his tiny paddles pressed with astonishing firm- 

 ness against my leg. Happening to touch his funny 

 little bill with the tip of a finger, his mouth at once 

 opened to its fullest extent. His expression then 

 was quite savage, and an instant later, to my amaze- 

 ment, he actually made an attempt to bite. 



" You're a brave wee drakie, all right enough," I 

 said to him as I attempted to lift him preparatory 

 to turning him loose. The twin paddles, however, 

 had a curiously firm grip, and the sharp nails clung 

 to the cloth. Then I remembered he was a tree- 

 duck, and better understood how his elders could 

 perch, or run along a limb at will. 



