One spring a farmer, with whom I sometimes go shooting, determined to
try with young birds. He found a black duck's nest in a dense swamp
near a salt creek, and hatched the eggs with some others under a tame
duck. Every time he approached the pen the little things skulked away
and hid; nor could they be induced to show themselves, although their
tame companions were feeding and running about, quite contented. After
two weeks, when he thought them somewhat accustomed to their
surroundings, he let the whole brood go down to the shore just below
his house. The moment they were free the wild birds scurried away into
the water-grass out of sight, and no amount of anxious quacking on the
part of the mother duck could bring them back into captivity. He never
saw them again.

This habit which the young birds have of skulking away out of sight is
a measure of protection that they constantly practise. A brood may be
seen on almost any secluded pond or lake in New England, where the
birds come in the early spring to build their nests. Watching from
some hidden spot on the shore, one sees them diving and swimming
about, hunting for food everywhere in the greatest freedom. The next
moment they scatter and disappear so suddenly that one almost rubs his
eyes to make sure that the birds are really gone. If he is near
enough, which is not likely unless he is very careful, he has heard a
low cluck from the old bird, which now sits with neck standing
straight up out of the water, so still as to be easily mistaken for
one of the old stumps or bogs among which they are feeding. She is
looking about to see if the ducklings are all well hidden. After a
moment there is another cluck, very much like the other, and downy
little fellows come bobbing out of the grass, or from close beside the
stumps where you looked a moment before and saw nothing. This is
repeated at frequent intervals, the object being, apparently, to
accustom the young birds to hide instantly when danger approaches.

So watchful is the old bird, however, that trouble rarely threatens
without her knowledge. When the young are well hidden at the first
sign of the enemy, she takes wing and leaves them, returning when
danger is over to find them still crouching motionless in their hiding
places. When surprised she acts like other game birds,--flutters along
with a great splashing, trailing one wing as if wounded, till she has
led you away from the young, or occupied your atten