A WILD DUCK 



4 



— j^ HE title will suggest to most 

 I people a line across the autumn 



sky at sunset, with a bit of mys- 

 tery about it ; or else a dark 

 triangle moving southward, 

 high and swift, at Thanksgiv- 

 ing time. To a few, who know well the 

 woods and fields about their homes, it may 

 suggest a lonely little pond, with a dark bird 

 rising swiftly, far out of reach, leaving the 

 ripples playing among the sedges. To those 

 accustomed to look sharply it will suggest 

 five or six more birds, downy little fellows, 

 hiding safe among roots and grasses, so still 

 that one seldom suspects their presence. 

 The duck, like most game birds, loves soli- 

 tude; the details of his life he keeps very 

 closely to himself ; and one must be content 

 with occasional glimpses. 

 87 



