■wood-duck, belonging to the boys of my nearest 

 neighbor. 



Little Aix, too, has a story, which is more 

 than his own in particular, for it is the story of 

 all the wood-ducks, just as the story of the 

 woodcock in the swale is that of the woodcocks 

 everywhere. 



The wood-ducks are vanishing. Where a 

 score of years ago they were plentiful, to-day 

 they are almost unknown. And this is largely 

 because of the utter lack of protection in many 

 of the States, but more largely because only seven 

 of the States and three of .the Canadian provinces 

 close the gunning season early enough in the 

 winter to prevent spring shooting on the breed- 

 ing-grounds. It is a sad comment that we have 

 neither humaneness nor sportsmanlike spirit 

 enough to let the birds alone during the mating- 

 and nesting-time. 



Among all our native game-birds there is no 

 other so beautiful as the wood-duck, and his sad 

 history is partly the history of his beauty. In 

 rhyme and story, since story-telling began, we 

 have seen how perilous a gift beauty is, and now 

 we see it even in the woods. It is proving fatal 

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