THE CoMMODORE AND CREW. 295 

“¢ Certain, sure; we’ve the little tin baker, and plenty of 
Horseford’s.” 
‘¢Say, Mr. Crew, this big fish is actually fat, and a thick 
One. | 
‘¢ Course itis; no use to dry a thin, poor fish; a dozen or 
two for each of us to carry home, dried, and smoked a little 
to flavor them, will be correct.” 
‘¢Even so; and this is the place to pick up these fat fellows, 
‘single gent’s’ I take it, should we catch any thin racers we 
will let them go again.” | 
It is just daybreak the next morning after the rain when we 
are awakened by the gabble of black ducks along the shore 
immediately in front of the tent. They have espied our white 
canvass among the trees, and the old mother gossip with her 
neck stretched out toward us, a little mistrustful of the appear- 
ance, and the faint smoke drifting up, is swimming about 
among them, gabbling away, no doubt telling them the big- 
gest kind of duck lies about hunters and of their horrid appe- 
tites for black ducks, young ones particularly, altogether 
unaware that the Commodore was wide awake, listening, with 
his rifle resting over the back logs between the evergreens. 
One young fellow, becoming tired of her long, gibble gabble 
turns his attention to an early stirring minnow that pops up 
after a half drowned insect which he gets, and is down again 
much too quick for ducky, who sits gazing long upon the tiny 
ripple left upon the surface, without a smile. 
Another stands upon his head, apparently, for a moment, 
and is feeding off the bottom ; then as he rights up again upon 
the surface, wags his tail and shakes his head, with his eye 
washed clean and keen for business, makes quickly and noise- 
lessly to shore and gobbles a poor little tired frog that had 
