bers, the muskrats in the marshes, and 

 the blackbirds among the flags. It 

 seems as if most men, if they do not 

 shoot an animal or bird for food or 

 gain, shoot it to see it fall and die. The 

 Willobyre is now the Gunpowder- 

 lovely name for a pretty little river truly, 

 because an Indian planted powder on its 

 banks, hoping to raise the seed that 

 exploded into fierce flames, and dreadful 

 noise. So, passes away all things in this 

 world of change. The song birds in the 

 woods, the ducks on the river, the wad- 

 ing birds in the marshes have been al- 

 most annihilated. It is true the game 

 laws try to protect them, but the wild 

 ducks seem gone beyond any help. I 

 can remember when they blackened the 

 waters and made a noise like distant 

 thunder when they arose. This . river 

 was once a famous resort for them. 

 They came in immense flocks to feed 

 upon the wild celery here. In Novem- 

 ber they flew southward to escape the 

 freezing up of waters in their northern 

 home. 



There were the mallard, the canvass- 

 back, the redhead, the coot, the fisher- 

 man, the black duck, the water partridge, 

 the sprig tails, and south-sea-southerlies. 

 But, alas ! the big gun fired by night into 

 them when they were sleeping on the 

 water, and other unlawful shooting has 

 almost entirely destroyed them. Where 

 thousands of happy ducks quacked, and 

 frolicked, and splashed each other in 

 their joyous lives, there is a solitary 

 waste of lonely waters over which oc- 

 casionally floats on wide pinions in 

 majestic solitude, that beautiful fishing 

 eagle, the osprey. 



Ducks are considered to be stupid 

 fowls, but a creature that sets a sentinel 

 to watch for danger; that dives at the 

 flash of a gun ; that flies to refuge before 

 any signs of a storm; that when fatally 

 wounded, dives to the bottom and holds 

 onto grass, dying there, is not as stupid 

 as imagined. Their affection, and fidel- 

 ity for each other is intense, the common 

 duck laments in pathetic outcry, when 



one of their number is taken away • 

 when the lost one is returned, the meet- 

 ing is jubilantly vociferous of joy and 

 relief. 



The bridge across the Gunpowder is 

 a mile long, the ducks fly across con- 

 stantly, unmindful of the roar of con- 

 stantly passing trains, or the lights at 

 night, or perhaps they playfully race 

 with the express; King Canvasback, at 

 "i^^ty miles an hour, can win any race 



When the gunners came, and fired at 

 them, their keen eyes soon spied ''the man 

 behind the guns," and when thev came 

 to the bridge, up, up, up they would rise, 

 until a cannon could not reach them. 

 Once safely across, they dropped, to 

 skim over the water in unharmed lib- 

 erty. 



The following story is even more re- 

 markable. A gunner was in his blind, 

 one winter morning waiting for them to 

 come to their feeding place, which they 

 had frequented the day before. In the 

 . night the river had frozen, not hard 

 enough to bear a man, but too hard for 

 any duck to break. Presently they came, 

 but seemed to have no intention of 

 alighting as they noticed the ice, but 

 they circled about in bewilderment. 

 Then they flew around, and around as 

 does the pigeon before starting for home. 

 But they had no intention of going away 

 unsatisfied, for they were consulting to- 

 gether, and about to do, as wonderful a 

 piece of strategy as ever man thought, 

 or executed. They flew up higher, and 

 higher, and after making a small bunch 

 of themselves, dropped like a stone, all 

 together 'upon the ice, broke a large 

 place, and began quietly feeding. No 

 one duck, or two could have broken the 

 ice, but the combined weight of the 

 whole party, the momentum and swift- 

 ness of the descent accomplished theif 

 wish. 



*Tn union there is strength" was also 

 the motto of the wise redhead ducks. 

 Was this instinct, or reason? 



Hattie Reynolds. 



61 



