WILD-FOWL OF WILD-FOWL 



vasback started from her canopied nest in a clump 

 of rushes, just as I had caught a glimpse of the 

 bulky mass of stems and down. I realize how in- 

 adequate is the power of words to convey the full 

 impression of such a scene and the interest and 

 excitement of such a moment. Though I have seen 

 it enacted hundreds of times, I would willingly 

 tramp miles to experience that thrill once more. 

 For one thing, at such a time the mind is in a state 

 of expectancy through the effort of the search. 

 The wildness of those prairie lakes adds to its 

 charm. Every clump of thick vegetation suggests 

 limitless depths of possibility, and success comes 

 frequently enough not to allow hope and expec- 

 tancy to flag. And when it does come "it is so 

 sudden," that rustling of the grass, the beating of 

 wings, the sight at close quarters of the noble bird 

 rising from the mysterious fastness. Every nerve 

 is strained to note each marking and detail in that 

 brief, fleeting instant, into which a whole day of 

 life is crowded. It takes training of eye and mind 

 to so utilize that golden speck of time that there 

 shall not afterward be the regret of a confused mind 

 and an unidentified nest. Then comes the delicious 

 expectancy of the approach to the clump, the peer- 

 ing in, the first sight of the hidden treasure. The 

 whole scene is one of Nature, inanimate and living, 

 at her best. In this spirit, with enthusiasm aglow, 

 I watched the swift Canvasback until she disap- 

 peared behind some rushes, and then peered into 

 the bed of down. Nine dark eggs there were, and 

 two strangers, the smooth white eggs of a Redhead 

 that had laid in the wrong nest. Neither the hot 



