"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 of the blind and the eagle's feather in her hat moved.

With a sharp cry the duck swung out of range and was gone.

"Oh, Jim, I didn't do that. I declare I didn't move! He squawked just for nothing and flew away."

"Yes, of course, he dreamed he saw an eagle after him. Ducks often go to sleep flying and have nightmares."

"I won't do it again, please don't get cross now." She laid her hand on his. He smiled and said nothing.

"You're not angry, Jim?" she asked, peeping around shyly. She was sitting in the front of the boat with her back toward him.

"How could any man get angry at such a wonderful shot. You never cripple them, they just drop at the crack of your gun. I think, however, they die of fright. We will know to-night when we eat them for dinner whether the shot killed them or you just scared them to death."

"Don't be nasty, Jim, I'll let you shoot the very next one. I won't move."

She had scarcely spoken when Stuart seized her arm with a sudden fierce grip.

"Sh--now, as still as death!" he whispered. "Don't you dare move or speak or whisper, or breathe aloud."

"I won't!" Nan groaned, crouching low.

"He's circling the blind, but he's coming in sure," he whispered.

Just then the live decoy goose raised his head, saw his friend in the air, and broke into a shrill cry that rang like a trumpet over the smooth waters of the bay.

Nan sprang to her feet crying:

"It's a goose!"

"Yes, two of them; one right here in the blind!" Stuart laughed.

"No, no! There he goes, Jim! Look, isn't he a big one?"

"A very fine goose, but not nearly so plump and nice as the one we have here."

Nan looked puzzled a moment, blushed and sat down.

"Jim, I think you're awfully mean. He was going the other way when I saw him. I didn't scare him. You know I didn't."

"Certainly not!" was the scornful answer. "He just turned around and went back to pick up a feather he dropped. He'll call again some day."

Nan peeped around to see if he were angry, deliberately rose, turned and sat down on the bow of the boat facing Stuart, smiling at him, mischievously.

"Let's not shoot to-day, Jim!" she pleaded.

"We won't," he answered, dryly.

"You know I think this blind is such a cute little house, with the blue sky above and the still, beautiful waters stretching away into the mists around us; isn't it?"

"Dangerously beautiful to mere mortals, I'm afraid, Nan!" he answered soberly.

"Not if they are sensible, as you and I. Come, you can't be angry to-day. I'm too happy. You don't really care about ducks anyhow, do you? I want to talk. I'm in fairyland alone with the old sweetheart of my girlish dreams! And you're ten times better looking than you were then, Jim."

Stuart broke into a boyish laugh, and gave up to the charm of her chatter.

For hours they sat laughing and joking. The years rolled back, the fevered life of the great city faded, and they were boy and girl again.

As the sun was sinking in a sea of scarlet they were startled by the approach of the tender.

The guide took up the decoys, and made fast their boat to tow them back to the yacht.

His comment on the day's work was brief:

"Great sport!"

He winked at Stuart, grasped the tiller of the tender and signalled to the man at the engine to let her go.

The old man was unusually quiet in the crew's quarters that night. It was nine o'clock before he startled the cook with a sudden remark:

"Gee, but she's a beauty!"

"Who's a beauty?"

"Sometimes he called her 'Nan,' sometimes he called her 'Dianner.'"

"Oh!"

"You know what I'd like to do?"

"No, what?"