IN THE MARSH. 141 



duck so subdued in comparison, when her mottled yel- 

 low and brown rests side by side with her noble mate. 

 Just look at them dropping in down there ! We are go- 

 ing to have a great time with them. The water isn't 

 deep here, but mud? Anywhere from two to ten feet. 

 There is a bird you don't see often. See him ? Basking 

 in the sunshine on that old muskrat house, a male 

 Summer duck. ^ What a beauty he is ! In my opinion 

 the handsomest bird that visits the North. He sees us 

 now. Watch him how undecided he is ; look how the 

 colors seem to shine resplendently as the sunshine 

 strikes them. What are you doing ? No, you don't ! 

 Drop that gun. There are ducks enough to shoot with- 

 out molesting him. Away he goes, little knowing his 

 narrow escape. Don't feel hurt that I didn't allow you 

 to shoot ; by not doing so you conferred a personal 

 favor on me Oh, what's the use looking so inquisi- 

 tively at me ? If you want to know why I spared its life 

 my only reason is a tender love for the bird. They are 

 so inexpressibly beautiful, so affectionate, their gor- 

 geous plumage always seems to me to light up the dull 

 marsh with such surprising beauty, that I just haven't 

 the heart to shoot them. Do you think me effeminate ? 

 I hope not. 



We are getting among them now, they rise from the 

 marsh in countless numbers, what a sight ! All kinds 

 and sizes ; the deep sullen roar of their wings their 

 loud quacking, the sight of so many so near, just out 

 of gun range, fill us both with thrilling, anxious expec- 

 tation. It doesn't take long until we are in their re- 

 treat, set out the decoys, fix the blind, and are making 

 sad havoc with them. At times, they come with great 

 frequency and regularity. This is easily accounted 



