THE DUSKY DUCK. 129 



opportunity for a shot that evening. I watched for them 

 the next morning before daylight, but it had frozen hard, 

 and they had all disappeared. Where had they gone ? I 

 went to Lake Ontario the same day, but could not find them. 



Being on the ground again a week later, and being curi- 

 ous to know where the Ducks spent the night, I was advised 

 to push my boat into a flooded region of a thick second 

 growth of vaiied trees and bushes of the lowlands, about 

 sundown, and watch their movements. As the rosy tints of 

 sunset were fading out of the sky, the Ducks, nearly all of 

 the kind now under review, began to circle over the spot; 

 and every now and then a pair would drop down after the 

 manner of alighting above described, and with a sharp 

 flutter and rustle of the wings, reach the water with a 

 heavy splash. They continued to come until dark, large 

 numbers thus spending the night floating on these quiet 

 waters in the security of the trees and the bushes. 



Before day the next morning I was at the favorite ren- 

 dezvous where I had seen so many Ducks the week before. 

 As the cold sky of the night began to assume the soft 

 golden hues of the coming morning — a change which takes 

 place quite suddenly — the Ducks began to arrive. This 

 time there was none of that cautious reconnoitering of the • 

 place, which is common to these birds at other times of 

 day. I could hear them squaking, without any reserve 

 whatever, some time before they reached the spot, and as 

 they arrived, they immediately dropped down in their flut- 

 tering, rustling manner, the sound of which, coming so 

 near my screen by a tree in the open field, had a very 

 exciting effect upon me in this deep light of the morn- 

 ing. To watch their sprightly and happy movements in 

 this state of perfect freedom was well worth all the incon- 

 venience of rising early, walking far and shivering in the 

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