for, according to A, his friend C was at Launching all ready to join the party. Fortunately, rowing was C’s favorite exercise.

Too much wind would, of course, be bad but A, who knows a good deal about weather signs, was reasonably certain that there would be no great difficulty on that score.

9am. saw the three eager hunters landed safely and in good spirits on the abandoned shores of Boughton Island. At the cottage (a mile or so from the beach) which the owner had generously loaned to the party for the day, they checked their supplies. There were three guns, an adequate number of shells, food enough for one good snack, tea enough for three cups each, but no stronger beverage, not even

William Christian with Kent'sgramlduugliter a ‘little drop in case Caitlin Marrvisitingfmm Mormon

of sickness", an axe and six quite natural looking decoys added utilitarian and psychological touches respectively.

The strategy was very simple. They would journey another mile to the pond, hide in the “blind" and pick off the birds as they came in to fraternize with their synthetic relations.

By five o’clock the three were back to the dory with no ducks but with plenty of alibis which have about the same general effect. By this time, however, the weather had changed considerably from its soft mood of the morning. In fact, it was blowing so hard that even C was impressed. “There’s only one thing to do", he announced, “go back to the cottage for the night.”

This wasn’t an exactly pleasant prospect, since they had no food, no tea, no bedding, and no light, but the prospect of being blown out to sea was even less pleasant. So, back to the cottage they went.

One cheering circumstance among a lot of more or less 36