En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 165 



Ivan just ahead of me, splattering the 

 water with his heavy shoes, and sprink- 

 ling it over his fox-skin cap and home- 

 made blue blouse. In go Bjoerken and 

 Jansen and Raavad. Out go a snipe 

 and a fox and a duck. Snipe jump up on 

 all sides and zig-zag off " skaiching " husk- 

 ily, just as they do when Culver and I 

 flush them from the rich juicy ground of 

 a sweet New Jersey swamp. 



The marshes here look very much like 

 our own marshes at home, and any 

 one not a botanist would have difficulty 

 in determining from the surroundings 

 whether he were in New Jersey or in this 

 far north Sjaelland. The ducks are rather 

 wild and they usually manage to get out 

 of the way of our noisy party before we 

 get within range of them. Now and then 

 a single mallard will lie concealed under 

 the fallen sedge until we are close upon 

 him, and then with loud quacks and swish- 

 ing wings he tries to escape. 



The daylight is fading rapidly and by 

 four o'clock it will be too dark to shoot. 

 Working back toward the hills in broken 



