56 AN OLD SPORTSMAN. 



dreadful suspense, during which I feel Di, my 

 uncle's favourite and unfailing retriever, shud- 

 dering with excitement. At last, flop !. as if out 

 of the clouds drops a mallard into a pond close 

 to us, and then another and another, and then, 

 perhaps, a hundred, until the little patch of water 

 is covered with them. " Will, you fire first," 

 my uncle orders, a good deal under his 

 breath. 



I get ready at once, and aim for the centre 

 of the birds. I have this time a double- 

 barrelled gun. The light glints on the tubes, 

 and with a mighty splashing, quacking, and 

 whuttering, up start the ducks, but not before 

 my uncle has sent three ounces of heavy shot 

 amongst them, and I have also contributed 

 to the slaughter. Eight or ten would be 

 about the average number we picked up, and 

 in the morning, Jack Sullivan would sally 

 out and bring home, perhaps, three or four 

 cripples. 



If Uncle Joe was not shooting or fishing, or 

 getting his implements in order for either of 

 these pursuits, he was reading or talking about 

 them. Hawker's ' Young Sportsman' and 



