THE SPORT OF BIRD STUDY 



CHAPTER I 



THE APPEAL OF THE SPORT 



I'VE got the Wood Duck, I've got the Wood Duck, 

 I've got him, I've got him!" This excited 

 yelling brought me through the thicket in a 

 hurry, out to the margin of the boggy pond. I arrived 

 just in time to see my fifteen-year-old enthusiast caper- 

 ing like a jumping-jack, and catch a glimpse of a flying 

 duck disappearing like a meteor. 



" Got him, have you .'' " I said. " Produce him, then ! 

 Spread him out and let's look him over. Then we'll 

 have roast duck!" 



"He's just gone out there through those trees," cried 

 Ned, indicating the course of the recent meteorite, " and 

 I'm dead sure it's a Wood Duck, positive! That makes 

 number 149 on my year's list, and I know there's a 

 brood of Black Ducks in here, too ; I heard one quack- 

 ing. If I see them, that will make 150. Oh, it just 

 makes me crazy!" 



"Yes, that was a Wood Duck all right. I saw it go," 

 I replied, "and you've certainly got him to your credit, 



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