108 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



covers the object aimed at. His aspirations are greater, 

 and quickly aiming first one place, then another, he sees 

 that he has made a double. Regretfully sighing he puts 

 the gun away, and looking round spies his wife stand- 

 ing looking smilingly at him. He thinks to act indif- 

 ferently and tells her he was looking at his gun, " afraid 

 it would rust." She looks at him archly and replies, 

 " Guns must rust very easily, for you examined yours 

 only yesterday." They go out together on that bright 

 Sunday afternoon, the melted snow coursing in tiny 

 rivulets down descending places, the bright sunshine 

 greeting with affectionate glances all the earth, the blue 

 birds flitting, the robins caroling, all nature glad at 

 the approach of spring. The wife talks of house clean- 

 ing, of papering, of spring repairs, of flowers throwing 

 out sweet incense of perfume, of roses, pinks, hyacinths, 

 and lilies, and how the flower beds will be made, how 

 the blooming flowers will blossom prolifically, thus she 

 walks so sprightly, thus she talks so lightly, wondering 

 at his silence. Was he listening? Yes, so far as a man 

 could, while his thoughts were far away, down in the 

 depths of some deep wood, where the rising water had 

 overflowed the banks, leaving slight ridges where acorns 

 were abundant. His wife turns suddenly and looks at 

 his face. She sees him looking at the sky so reverentially. 

 Allowing her sight to drift in the same direction, what 

 does she see? Golden lined clouds floating slowly 

 through the air, driven by the mild south wind ? Nothing 

 of the kind. Instead, she sees about a dozen geese flying 

 north, led by an old honking gander. How does this 

 compare with the reader's experience ? But never mind, 

 don't plead guilty, the law presumes you innocent until 

 actual guilt is proven. 



