410 FEATHERED GAME 
a tiny little songsparrow, perched near by and 
quivering with the joy of springtime, sends 
forth his brave little song in merry greeting; 
the awakened crow gives out an occasional caw- 
ing as he starts forth from the pines for his 
breakfast on the shore, and just out of range 
of the watcher’s gun a bunch of big blue herons 
playing ‘‘follow my. leader’’ passes by in slow 
and dignified flight, northward bound. The de- 
coys anchored across the gentle breeze are rid- 
ing motionless in a calm streak under the shelter 
of the ledge, but in plain sight and sure to be 
noticed by any passing flock coming in from 
sea, and all is ready. 
While still too dark for him to shoot, the gun- 
ner has seen shadowy forms flitting past in the 
uncertain foreground, and now with the in- 
creasing light comes the hurry and rustle of 
wings carrying hungry birds to their feeding 
grounds inshore. 
Here they are! Where they came from no 
one knows, for two seconds ago not a feather 
was in sight, but out of the water they appear 
as if by magic and are almost upon the gunner 
before he sees them. They have sighted the 
decoys and swing in toward their new-found 
