Wood-Duck and Wood- Duck S booting 219 



claimed my host, when I had suggested a joint 

 expedition up river. 



" I'll go anyway, this afternoon, just for a paddle," 

 I replied, and I went. 



The stream was deserted, yet the five-mile trip 

 was wondrous pleasant. At the turning-point I 

 lingered long, merely lounging in the canoe, for 

 farmers along the way had all told the same story 

 " Ducks had been fairly plentiful, but all had gone 

 to the marsh." 



I suppose old memories had a deal to do with it, 

 for somehow I fairly longed to see even one of the 

 dainty beauties that formerly traded up and down 

 that water. It was a perfect Indian summer day, 

 the water like glass, the sky steel-blue, and over all 

 the magic haze which screens the death of the bleed- 

 ing leaf. Great walls of painted foliage were mir- 

 rored in the sleeping water, and as I looked up the 

 old stream from the old point of view, I thought, 

 u 'Tis indeed wondrous fair why couldn't just one 

 of the old wood-ducks have held over for my benefit 

 if but to complete the picture." 



He must have known have purposely delayed 

 rather than have me disappointed. I saw him first, 

 and as there was no time for getting to cover, I 

 knelt in the canoe right in midstream. He saw me, 

 but all he did was rise a bit and " Oe-eek " for more 

 steam. When he was almost overhead, for an instant 

 I caught the gleam of his sunlit garb, then, allowing 

 at least ten feet, I pulled. He got it so fairly that 

 all he did was set his wings and hang for one instant 

 with the sun glorifying him, the misty blue above, 

 and the billows of glowing foliage upon either hand. 



