X'u 



'&; 



A 





.. — - , - - * * * ' / ) ' ' ' ivi m> j"- i jji lu" ii» , ■ ' -^- - — - ^*-i^~ ^^ 



"SUDDENLY ARRESTING HIS FLIGHT HE HOVERS IN MID-AIR." 



back. Now he circles, but with all his 

 manoeuvring I notice he does not advance 

 a foot in my direction. 



What an exquisite life study he would 

 make with the play of light and shade, as 

 it shifts with every turn of his superb head; 

 now a rich golden green as the sunlight 

 glances from the feathers; now dark as he 

 enters the shade of the reeds. 



Whirr-r-rr! he is up and off, back to the 

 lake again. 



His actions said plainly that something 

 was wrong with my cover, and inspection 

 shows me he was right, for I find the stern 

 of my punt is clear of the reeds. 



When I felt my way here in the dark, I 

 did not push in as far as I should, and so 

 that mallard's life was saved at any rate — 

 perhaps! 



A single thrust with an oar suffices, and 

 now, provided the crows will only keep 

 away, I'll wager there is not a duck on 

 Lake Champlain will suspect what is lurk- 

 ing here this lovely morning. 



Burr-r-r! a kingfisher rattles by, and 

 right on his heels a pair of black ducks 

 swing round the bend, just skimming the 

 water. 



Bang! — Bang! — they keep on skimming, 

 a trifle more rapidly to be sure, but still 

 skimming all right. Of course I did not 

 lead them properly. I knew that instantly, 

 for the shot cut- the water into foam 2 feet 

 or more behind them. 



Wild fowl glide along so smoothly that 

 one is often deceived as to their speed and 

 frequently an easy shot is missed by lack 

 of proper appreciation of this fact. There! 

 that's better. A hen mallard plumps into 

 the creek breast down, and is feebly swim- 

 ming in circles, her head under water the 

 while. Presently she floats, still, lifeless, 

 with head below the surface as though 

 feeding. No need to 'gather her yet; there 

 is no current to carry her down. 



Here comes my kingfisher friend again. 

 Suddenly arresting his flight he hovers in 

 mid-air directly over the duck, with big, 

 ungainly head and erected crest, seemingly 

 lost in surprise at the strange inertness of 

 the body. Astonishment apparently holds 

 him mute for the time, till, his wonder 

 passed, he clatters off down the creek. 



No use waiting longer; the promise of 

 the morning has failed and Indian summer 

 still holds the lake and land enthralled. 



