cupied
differently. He sat near the middle of the canoe, double-barrel in hand,
eagerly watching for a shot. Many species of water-fowl were upon the
river, for it was now late in the spring, and the wild geese and ducks
had all arrived, and were passing northward upon their annual migration.
During the day Francois had got several shots, and had "bagged" three
wild geese, all of different kinds, for there are many species of wild
geese in America.

He had also shot some ducks. But this did not satisfy him. There was a
bird upon the river that could not be approached. No matter how the
canoe was manoeuvred, this shy creature always took flight before
Francois could get within range. For days he had been endeavouring to
kill one. Even upon the St. Peter's many of them had been seen,
sometimes in pairs, at other times in small flocks of six or seven, but
always shy and wary. The very difficulty of getting a shot at them,
along with the splendid character of the birds themselves, had rendered
Francois eager to obtain one. The bird itself was no other than the
great wild swan--the king of aquatic birds.

"Come, brother!" said Francois, addressing Lucien, "bother your
viburnums and your oxycocks! Tell us something about these swans. See!
there goes another of them! What a splendid fellow he is! I'd give
something to have him within range of buckshot."

As Francois spoke he pointed down-stream to a great white bird that was
seen moving out from the bank. It was a swan, and one of the very
largest kind--"a trumpeter."

It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice, and no doubt the sight
of the canoe or the plash of the guiding oar had disturbed, and given it
the alarm. It shot out from the reeds with head erect and wings slightly
raised, offering to the eyes of the voyageurs a spectacle of graceful
and majestic bearing, that, among the feathered race at least, is quite
inimitable.

A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near
the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down
the river, and swam with the current.

At the point where it turned it was not two hundred yards ahead of the
canoe. Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without
taking wing, led Francois to hope that they might get still nearer; and,
begging his companions to ply the paddles, he seized hold of his
double-barrel, and leaned forward in the canoe. Basil also conceived a
hope that