Stuart stepped gingerly inside and inspected the suits she laid out on her bed. He turned them over and laughed. "What's wrong?" she asked. "They're all wrong. These things were made to hunt butterflies in the tropics, not ducks in Virginia." "Can't I wear either of them?" she asked in dismay. "If you could get all six of them on, one on top of the other and wear your flannels." "But I don't wear flannels." "All right, put on two of these gossamer webs, two heavy sweaters and wrap yourself in oil skins and maybe you won't freeze." "Must I?" she sighed; "I'll look like a fright." "What's the difference? You've got to hide from the ducks, anyhow. No one else will stroll down these wide avenues to-day." "You'll be there." He dropped his voice instinctively. "Well, you'll always look the same to me whether you are dressed in silk or cotton 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."