bagging."

She looked up quickly with a startled expression, began to say
something, changed her mind and spoke in a matter-of-fact voice:

"Then get out and I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

When she appeared on deck, Stuart sat down and laughed heartily. She
had managed to dress herself warmly and yet look pretty as a picture.
Her jaunty little hunting hat was tipped with an eagle's feather. She
wore a brown sweater of the finest heavy wool over her jacket. The
corduroy skirt came to the knees, and she had on the most remarkable
pair of wading boots he had ever seen. They were made of brown
cloth-covered rubber and cut to the shape of the leg like the
old-fashioned leather boots of ancient knights.

Stuart helped her down the gangway and took his seat by her side in the
tender. In five minutes they were towed to the blind the old guide had
selected for the day's shooting.

The blinds are made of cedar bushes stuck into the mud in such a way
that the little gunning boat just fits inside. When the tide ebbs
enough for the ducks to reach bottom they come in to feed on their
favourite wild celery.

The guide took the tender to keep the ducks moving and left them alone.

He had scarcely gone when a pair of black ducks started for the decoys.
Just as they were about to settle, in spite of Stuart's warning, Nan
popped her head over the bushes to see where they were.

Quick as a flash they leaped a hundred feet into the air and left for
parts unknown at the rate of a hundred miles an hour.

"That's great!" Stuart cried, in disgust.

"I'm sorry, Jim," she said, contritely. "I won't do it again. But, you
know, I'm glad they got away after all."

"Yes?"

"Because they were mates; didn't you see the beautiful colours on the
drake's head? And what a yell he gave to his girl when he saw me?
Aren't you really glad they got away?"

"I am not!" he answered, emphatically. "Don't you dare to do that
again."

"I won't, honest. I'll kill the next one myself. Tell me just when to
get up; I'll shoot him just like I do a clay pigeon at the trap,
without sighting, just by instinct."

"Exactly, but please remember you are not shooting clay pigeons. A duck
has an eye that can see the movement of your hand three miles away,
remember that--keep your head down, there comes one now!"

"Where?"

"Sh! keep down, I tell you!"

"I am--but where, which side, where is he?"

Again Nan's big dark eyes slowly peered over the top