My Boyhood and Touth 



fields when a snowstorm was blowing and they 

 were hungry and wing-weary, with nearly an 

 inch of snow on their backs. In such times of 

 distress we used to pity them, even while trying 

 to get a shot at them. They were exceedingly 

 cautious and circumspect; usually flew several 

 times round the adjacent thickets and fences 

 to make sure that no enemy was near before 

 settling down, and one always stood on guard, 

 relieved from time to time, while the flock was 

 feeding. Therefore there was no chance to 

 creep up on them unobserved; you had to be 

 well hidden before the flock arrived. It was the 

 ambition of boys to be able to shoot these wary 

 birds. I never got but two, both of them at one 

 so-called lucky shot. When I ran to pick them 

 up, one of them flew away, but as the poor 

 fellow was sorely wounded he did n't fly far. 

 When I caught him after a short chase, he 

 uttered a piercing cry of terror and despair, 

 which the leader of the flock heard at a distance 

 of about a hundred rods. They had flown off in 

 frightened disorder, of course, but had got into 

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