Wild-Fowl of Wild-Fowl 



was an opening that someone had made with an 

 axe to get at a Duck's nest. There was down 

 around this lower hole, and through it I easily put 

 my hand on a set of seven eggs. Very near this 

 tree was the most likely opening of all, a great hol- 

 low almost large enough for a man to crawl in, 

 about twenty feet up a leaning oak. No down was 

 visible, but I felt certain that there must be a nest, 

 and my expectations were more than realized. As 

 I scrambled up, and my head was just opposite the 

 hole, whirring, thundering sounds issued from 

 within, and out went a female Golden-eye, with a 

 frightened murmur, almost in my face. I could 

 have seized her had I wished to. Peering in, I 

 counted eleven eggs at the bottom, in the usual 

 "feather bed." I could just reach them, and the 

 first one that I took out to examine I found was 

 pipped, the duckling chirping within. 



The next day was very rainy, but it cleared in 

 the afternoon, and again I climbed the tree. I 

 never expect to see a prettier sight. The mother 

 lay at the bottom, surrounded by a beautiful flock 

 of black and white young. Some of them were on 

 the old Duck's back; others were under her, ap- 

 parently, and several of them were moving around 

 in the limited chamber, picking at the chips on the 

 bottom. Instantly the old bird caught sight of me. 

 Turning over partly on her side, she looked up 

 with a frip-htened expression, and hissed like a 

 snake. It was a most delectable little family scene. 

 After I had enjoyed it for a few moments I with- 

 drew from the hole and began rapping the tree. 

 It took a number of calls before the mother reluc- 



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