ONE GOOSE AND ANOTHER. 



J. B. DUNN, JR. 



It was the latter part of September, 

 With early autumn had come a few light 

 frosts, just enough to tint the maple and 

 curl the leaves on the grapevine in brown 

 crispness. The nights were cool enough to 

 make thick blankets comfortable, and in 

 the daytime the strong, fresh breeze from 

 off the Atlantic made one feel life was 

 worth living, if only to get the lungs full of 

 sea air. 



On an afternoon of one of those bright, 

 clear days, as the sun was getting well 

 down in the sky 'and the sea breeze began 

 to die slowly out, a small, barefooted lad 

 came trudging along the edge of the 

 woods. He was not so small, either, but 

 his Shooting jacket, which was several sizes 

 too -large for him, hung almost to his knees 

 and hid his bigness. Beneath the jacket 

 was a pair of sturdy bare legs, tanned a 

 deep, rich brown by sun and wind. Above 

 it shone a round, smiling face, the same 

 hue as the legs, with a pair of black, spark- 

 ling eyes. Under the edge of the old 

 slouch hat peeped stray curls that waved 

 over his forehead and played tag under 

 the dilapidated rim. He wore tattered 

 trousers, also too large for him, which 

 started with a leather strap around his 

 waist and ended in ragged edges at his 

 knees. His well patched canvas coat gave 

 evidence of acquaintance with more than 

 one shooting ground. An old, single barrel 

 shot gun nestled in the hollow of his arm, 

 its shining barrel and glistening stock giv- 

 ing ample proof that it was well cared for. 

 Whistling gaily, he made his way along the 

 edge of the swamp until he reached a 

 tumble-down stone wall. His whistling 

 ceased as he scrambled over this, and after 

 pausing a moment to listen, he started 

 along a path that led into the woods. As 

 he entered, he changed his position, no 

 longer letting the gun rest in his arm, but 

 holding it with muzzle toward the ground. 



Suddenly whirr! bang! He stopped, 

 smiling to himself, opened his gun, 

 drew out the smoking shell, and, after 

 slipping in another, walked forward a 

 short distance and picked up a grouse. He 

 glanced at the bird critically. Then, smil- 

 ing again, stored it away in his jacket. He 

 continued his tramp, and before long 2 

 gray squirrels shared the fate of the ruffed 

 grouse. On coming out of the woods, he 

 found himself at the mouth of a trout 

 stream, which emptied, witli many a soft 

 gurgle, into the waters of the salt pond. 

 As he stood scanning the expanse of water 

 that stretched in front and to the riglil 



253 



and left, finally ending in a low sand dune 

 that separated it from the ocean, something 

 caught his eye which caused him to spring 

 across the brook and mount a large rock in 

 order to obtain a better view. Far out on 

 the pond, almost to the other shore, were 

 several objects which were incessantly 

 bobbing up and down, and at intervals 

 were out of sight altogether. Supreme ex- 

 citement wias evident in every move Jack 

 made. He shifted his gun from one shoul- 

 der to the other, shaded his eyes and 

 stretched on tip-toe to get a better view. 

 They were surely sheldrake. After watch- 

 ing them a few minutes, and seeing they 

 were feeding and no doubt would stay in 

 the pond overnight, he glanced at the sun, 

 then well down along the edge of the 

 swamp, jumped off the rock and started for 

 home. His course lead him through a 

 slough and along several rocky pastures. 

 With gun in the hollow of his arm, he 

 strolled along in the twilight, grouse and 

 woodcock forgotten. Ducks were in the 

 pond at last, and visions of decoys, a well 

 hidden blind and ducks lighting with wings 

 outspread and feet down, flashed before his 

 mind. 



The deep twilight shadows of ia Septem- 

 ber evening were rapidly falling. As he 

 stubbed along in the gathering dusk, he 

 heard the whicker of a woodcock, starting 

 from a neighboring swamp, and mentally 

 marked the place ; while farther in the deep 

 woods a whippoorwill broke on the even- 

 ing quiet with its plaintive song. 



He crossed the pastures, already wet 

 with dew, and came at last to the lane at 

 the end of which stood a small cottage. He 

 made his way around the corner of the 

 house, leaned his gun against the lattice 

 work and opened ia small door which led 

 under the piazza. He disappeared, but 

 presently came forth, bearing in his arms 

 half a dozen sheldrake decoys, nicely paint- 

 ed, with a string and weight attached to 

 each. Heaping these into a wheelbarrow 

 that stood near, he picked up his gun and 

 carried it into the house. He returned in a 

 moment and again set out for the pond ; 

 that time with only the decoys and an old 

 shovel. It was long after dark when he 

 got back, but he had the satisfaction of 

 knowing he was fully prepared for the 

 morning; thai boat, stools and blind were 

 ready; so, after eating his supper, he 

 cleaned his gun and went to bed happy. 



Who was that small urchin so interested 

 in duck shooting? It was I, and no day 

 is more deeply impressed on my memory 



