DUCK-SHOOTING IN A GALE 297 



whence the big Lincolnshire sheep had been driven by 

 the gale to huddle beneath the stacks of coarse, stemmy 

 hay. On my way I kicked up a hare, and was stupid 

 enough to shoot him ; an awkward load at the best of 

 times, this one was doubly so, for I had not a large 

 game bag, and so tied his legs together and hung him 

 to the strap of my cartridge bag. With this animal 

 bumping against my thighs, I cautiously approached 

 the first bend, but it held nothing. The next held a 

 single duck, which fell an easy shot, but on the further 

 bank. The dog, however, made up her mind that it 

 was in the water, and it was at least five minutes before 

 I could get her to mount the further bank and search. 

 Then she dropped it in the stream and refused to take 

 any further notice of it ; consequently, I had to coast 

 along by the bank watching it drift, until it should 

 please chance to put it my side of the stream, if it did 

 not stick on the other. Just as I was thinking of 

 giving up the duck the dog changed her mind, and, 

 jumping in, retrieved it. 



About 500 yards lower, the drain made a sudden 

 twist, beyond which was an old stump, the remains of 

 one of the great trees which seem once to have covered 

 this curious country ; at any rate, the plough constantly 

 strikes on trunks, often of oak or yew, more or less 

 sound, in such parts of the " carrs " as farmers choose to 

 plough. 



Though there is nothing, to judge by appearances, to 

 make this part of the straight uninteresting drain more 

 attractive to duck than any other, the neighbourhood 



