En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 161 



pantaloons just as he does for his own 

 chubby nose. He is anxious to carry the 

 bird and I tell him he must be very careful 

 with it as I want the skin to stuff. Such 

 obedient carefulness as he displays one 

 seldom sees in a boy, and when he is 

 trudging through a wet spot he holds 

 the bird over his head where the saw- 

 grass won't muss it, until tripping up on 

 a willow root the poor little fellow snaps 

 shut like a jackknife and pokes the 

 pigeon so deep down in the mud with 

 one knee that the saw-grass turns green 

 with envy. 



Here comes a short-eared owl from the 

 marsh. Swinging along with soft noise- 

 less flip flops he skims the perfumed air 

 from the aster tops, and carelessly wafts 

 himself into our dangerous midst. The 

 opportunity is too good an one for Sven- 

 sen to resist. 



The clappers are again quiet as a mal- 

 lard duck flying high passes over the line 

 on his way to some small inland pond which 

 he knows about. Half a pound of shot 

 goes up after him, but he points his bill 



