50 Tbe Water-fcwl Family 



as the boat appears. Stakes on the other side 

 mark the course, and through a continuation of 

 ditches and creeks the punter shoves. Ducks are 

 everywhere, — jumping before the boat, circling 

 about the marsh, starting up other flocks, then 

 dropping down, loath to leave their resting-places. 

 Now the creek leads into a larger pond, its surface 

 marked with patches of marsh grass and wild rice. 

 A roar of wings, and a perfect multitude of ducks 

 take flight, joined, as they leave the water, by 

 smaller flocks. This is Pearson's Pond. At its 

 farther edge a small strip of sedge is surrounded 

 by quite an area of open water, which, with a 

 northwest wind, makes a lee. Here the punter 

 sets his decoys, then shoves back into the grass. 

 There is no need of a blind. A few quill reeds 

 cut and stuck in front of the bow make a complete 

 cover. Before everything is ready comes the first 

 shot. Four black duck, high up, answer the call, 

 and dropping into range circle in against the wind 

 with wings set, then jump high in the air as the 

 mistake is realized. One drops, the next barrel 

 misses. The morning stillness has been broken. 

 At the report thousands of ducks rise from the 

 ponds and marshes. A gun sounds off to the 

 east, and others toward the club, but there is suffi- 

 cient to attend to on Pearson's Pond. A flock of 

 six, in which a green head marks a mallard, are 

 hovering over the stool. The mallard and a black 



