Seft. ,?o, igii.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
515 
the high meadow grass, I came, most unex¬ 
pectedly, upon a little sandy point, and there 
they sat, four of ’em, and I crouched down 
hastily and thought hard thoughts about a man 
who goes snipe-shooting and leaves his gun in 
the boat. Four plover and nothing to shoot 
them with but a camera. But the sun was right 
and the distance fair, so I made the best of it 
and squeezed the bulb after a rather prolonged 
period of anxious focusing. If I couldn’t have 
the birds I wanted the picture, if for nothing 
more than a reminder of the foolishness of go¬ 
ing gunning without a gun, and I got it, which 
of itself is something remarkable in view of 
the countless films I spoil. 
Five or six hours before it would be high 
water again; too long a time to waste in good 
sniping weather, and Anse agreed with me when 
I said as much. Over across the channel there 
was a long narrow sandbar projecting from the 
beach, and I had a feeling that a dozen decoys 
stuck out upon it would bring more or less 
snipe in range of a seaweed blind. That’s an¬ 
other advantage of snipe shooting. You can 
change about from place to place with a mini¬ 
mum of exertion, and to me, constitutionally 
lazy, that particularly appeals. Blinds are easily 
made and you do not even have to be particular 
in their construction, provided you can keep 
half-way motionless while the birds are de¬ 
coying. 
It took the old sloop ten minutes to cross the 
channel, and after the anchor was dropped, we 
set the decoys up on the sandbar and pulled to¬ 
gether a few bushes and seaweed for a blind. 
Then, almost before we were ready for them, 
two plover swung by within gunshot and I and 
my little twelve made just as neat a double as 
you ever saw. 
Mostly plover, but just enough other snipe, 
willet, jack, creakers, and a fair sprinkling of 
yellow-legs, came in to our decoys and gave 
variety to the shooting. 
Anse had suggested returning to the meadow 
pond-hole in the hope of getting shooting dur¬ 
ing the sundown flight, and sure enough, we 
were getting it, when, without the least warn¬ 
ing, the sou’wester stopped blowing, the snipe 
stopped flying and the mosquitoes, kept down in 
the grass before by the wind, arose in clouds. 
“Don’t it beat the ol’ Harry,” Anse ex¬ 
claimed, “that the dratted wind should all peter 
out. They was jest cornin’ nice an’ we would 
’a slatted ’em if there’d been breeze ’nough to 
kept ’em flyin’. Darn these pesky mosquiters.” 
I T was with a supreme sense of satisfaction that 
we woke up under Heman’s roof, warm and 
comfortable, with the good-hearted, story¬ 
telling Fleman on hand to help while away a 
disagreeable, drizzling morning. It was agreed 
to go slowly until after dinner and we busied 
ourselves with letters telling of our safe arrival. 
Gurney in particular was anxious to get in 
touch with home over the wire, as his little boy, 
who had been out of sorts when we had left, 
had since developed typhoid fever, and while 
the accumulated letters of three weeks recorded 
nothing beyond the normal course of the dis¬ 
ease—which by that time was nearly over—he 
naturally wanted to get the latest definite news 
before even thinking of going on to the sea. 
1 his could be done by sending a message four 
miles by team to Kemptville, where it could be 
telephoned to Brazil Lake on the Dominion 
Atlantic and thence go out by telegraph. 
George and I decided, in light of this unfortu- 
And he threw the basket into the Louise’s 
cockpit without regard for its contents and be¬ 
gan brushing away the buzzing pests with both 
hands. 
“Cast her off forred an’ we’ll get outen this.” 
Two or three irregular explosions, then the 
little motor settled down to its work and with 
the bowsprit pointed up the creek and toward 
the mainland the Louise carried us away from 
the meadows and the hosts that swarmed just 
above its swaying grasses. 
nate illness, to forego the rest of the trip unless 
the expected reply was reassuring, and to go 
home by rail without delay. As we could get 
the answer ourselves at Kemptville, we con¬ 
cluded to devote the afternoon to going down 
the river that far. 
The important despatch, our letters, and two 
duffle bags were gotten off, and after a good 
dinner which included the great treat of one of 
Mrs. Crowell’s incomparable rhubarb pies, all 
hands started up the road to the canoes on Big 
Meadow Brook. We had invited Henan to 
spend the afternoon on the river with us, and 
as the weather had partly cleared, he accepted. 
We had to slow the pace somewhat to accom¬ 
modate ourselves to poor lieman's lameness, 
and it hurt me to see the crippling effects of 
rheumatism upon him. Our things were just as 
we had left them, but despite the shelter of the 
ponchos and the overturned canoes, some of our 
belongings had gotten wet in the driving rain. 
However, there was no chance then to dry them, 
so we loaded and got off. 
The run down to Kemptville was pleasantly 
varied by the excitement of frequent rapids, a 
variation which never seemed to pall with con¬ 
stant repetition. There was fair fishing all 
along, but the trout were small compared to 
those we had caught in the waters less often 
fished. However, Gurney captured six, I got 
fifteen, and Heman himself, who was fishing 
with George’s rod, took ten—all of which made 
a nice mess and were sent back to Mrs. Crow¬ 
ell with our compliments. All afternoon we 
paddled or ran rapids, Heman palpably enjoy¬ 
ing every minute, and we all delighted to see the 
good old fellow’s pleasure. At one place we 
had a trifling carry where the water sharply fell 
over falls twelve or fifteen feet high, but other¬ 
wise we stayed aboard throughout the run. We 
stirred up a number of mother ducks—blacks 
and sheldrakes—and watched them pretend to 
be desperately wounded while the young ones 
scooted for cover, there to disappear as by 
magic. One sheldrake had fifteen pretty red¬ 
headed ducklings in her train, an exceptionally 
large brood. 
Speaking of ducks and ducklings, I am re¬ 
minded of one of Heman’s stories. It vividly 
describes a novel experience which happened 
to a widely known angler whom Heman was 
UPPER BIG FALLS OF THE TUSKET RIVER. 
From Rossignol to Tusket—V 
By M. B. MILLER 
Illustrated from photographs by J. Gurney Taylor 
