d roots.
Mark, then, the plan that it takes to effect this end.

Seated as near as is safe to the canvass-back, it waits until the latter
makes his _somersault_ and goes down. It (the widgeon) then darts
forward so as to be sufficiently close, and, pausing again, scans the
surface with eager eye. It can tell where the other is at work, as the
blades of the plant at which it is tugging are seen to move above the
water. These at length disappear, pulled down as the plant is dragged
from its root, and almost at the same instant the canvass-back comes up
holding the root between his mandibles.

But the widgeon is ready for him. He has calculated the exact spot where
the other will rise; and, before the latter can open his eyes or get
them clear of the water, the widgeon darts forward, snatches the
luscious morsel from his bill, and makes off with it. Conflicts
sometimes ensue; but the widgeon, knowing himself to be the lesser and
weaker bird, never stands to give battle, but secures his prize through
his superior agility. On the other hand, the canvass-back rarely
attempts to follow him, as he knows that the other is swifter upon the
water than he. He only looks after his lost root with an air of chagrin,
and then, reflecting that there is "plenty more where it came from,"
kicks up its heels, and once more plunges to the bottom.

The red-head rarely interferes with either, as he is contented to feed
upon the leaves and stalks, at all times floating in plenty upon the
surface.

As the canoe glided near, those on board watched these curious manoeuvres
of the birds with feelings of interest. They saw, moreover, that the
"trumpeter" had arrived among them, and the ducks seemed to take no
notice of him. Lucien was struck with something unusual in the
appearance of the swan. Its plumage seemed ruffled and on end, and it
glided along in a stiff and unnatural manner. It moved its neck neither
to one side nor the other, but held its head bent forward, until its
bill almost touched the water, in the attitude that these birds adopt
when feeding upon something near the surface. Lucien said nothing to his
companions, as they were all silent, lest they might frighten the ducks;
but Basil and Norman had also remarked the strange look and conduct of
the trumpeter. Francois' eyes were bent only upon the ducks, and he did
not heed the other.

As they came closer, first Lucien, and then Basil and Norman, saw
something else that puzzled