d.

Presently I heard ducks quacking ahead. I raised my head cautiously to
the level of the wire-grass. A hundred rods beyond, nine black ducks
were grouped near the edge of a circular pool; behind them, from where I
stood, there rose from the level waste a humplike mound. I could no
longer proceed along the bottom of the causeway, as it was being rapidly
filled to within an inch below my boot-tops. The hump was my only
salvation, so I crawled to the bank and started to stalk the nine black
ducks.

It was difficult to keep on my feet on the slimy mud-bank, for the wind,
true to the fishermen's prediction, was now blowing half a gale.
Besides, this portion of the marsh was strange to me, as I had only
seen it at a distance from the lower end of the bay, where I generally
shot. I was within range of the ducks now, and had raised my hammers--I
still shoot a hammer-gun--when a human voice rang out. Then, like some
weird jack-in-the-box, there popped out from the mound a straight,
long-waisted body in black waving its arms.

It was the cure!

"Stay where you are," he shouted. "Treacherous ground! I'll come and
help you!" Then for a second he peered intently under his hand. "Ah! It
is you, monsieur--the newcomer; I might have guessed it." He laughed,
leaping out and striding toward me. "Ah, you Americans! You do not mind
the weather."

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur le Cure," I shouted back in astonishment, trying to
steady myself across a narrow bridge of mud spanning the causeway.

"Look out!" he cried. "That mud you're on is dangerous. She's sinking!"

It was too late; my right foot barely made another step before down I
went, gun, shells, and all, up to my chin in ice-cold water. The next
instant he had me by the collar of my leather coat in a grip of steel,
and I was hauled out, dripping and draining, on the bank.

"I'm all right," I sputtered.

"Come inside _instantly_," he said.

"Inside? Inside where?" I asked.

He pointed to the hump.

"You must get your wet things off and into bed at once." This came as a
command.

"Bed! Where? Whose bed?" Was he an Aladdin with a magic lamp, that could
summon comfort in that desolation? "Monsieur," I choked, "I owe you a
thousand apologies. I came near killing one of your nine decoys. I
mistook them for wild mallards."

He laughed softly. "They are not mine," he explained. "They belong to
the marquis; it is his gardener who pickets them out for me. I could not
afford to ke