THE MALLARD 217 



enjoyed a trip about the marshes, wandering here and 

 there through the innumerable water streets and lanes 

 before the season opened and without a gun. Last 

 season, while I was sketching in the marshes of the 

 Ottawa preserve, the mallards were quite tame. At 

 one little pond a punter preceded me and scattered 

 the corn for their daily meal, and shortly after he had 

 gone the ducks began to return. I had an excellent 

 opportunity to study them and figure out imaginary 

 shots. First came a wary black- or dusky-duck, over- 

 eager for the well-known bait. With a rush of wings 

 he barely missed my head and dropped into the pond. 

 There he sat immovable, with his head held high, 

 looking, listening, determined to detect a danger if 

 any should be there. I was but partially concealed, 

 but the corduroy was well in tone with the faded flags 

 and reeds and I remained as motionless as the wary 

 duck but a few feet away. Soon his partners came, a 

 little band followed by the mallards singly, in small 

 companies and in flocks, all circling once about and 

 heading to the wind. When at full speed down went 

 the brakes, their widely spreading tails, and tipping 

 sideways, flapping, they dropped into the pond. All, 

 like the black-duck, sat "attention" and I dared not 

 wink an eye. The tempting grain was all about, and 

 at last the ducks did the preening which seems neces- 

 sary to precede the meal and soon were rapidly devour- 

 ing the grain. A friend at another pond had cameras 

 instead of guns, and when we met at night he had thor- 

 oughly enjoyed the day. A hawk had pounced upon 

 one of his decoys, and sinking his talons well into the 

 wood had carried it a long way off. A snap-shot told 



