It was getting toward the end of our sojourn; we had experienced
several quiet balmy days--no wind, low water, general listlessness.
"Should we have any more fun?" we asked, and went to bed. About
midnight the wind came howling through the trees, the weather became
cold, and the rattling windows responded to the hope of a good day
to-morrow. Getting our breakfast early, we selected our points and
hastened to the boats. Dark clouds, flying over a dull wintry sky,
denoted a steady blow--it was cheering. The blinds were quickly
reached, and decoys thrown out. Only a few birds were flying, the
fitful wind becoming higher and higher and then dying out entirely.
The clouds, however, soon drifted away, the sun appeared as bright and
beautiful as summer--almost persuading us to take off our coats.
Disheartened at the coquettish nature of the weather, we gave it up.
Not a bird to be seen--we took our bottles, and throwing our heads
back on our shoulders, tried to look through the bottoms of
them--they in turn gave out a gurgling sound of complaining emptiness.
We fell into a refreshing sleep; the hours passed away unheeded, until
we were awakened by the rustling of the reeds bending in the breeze,
whispering of the coveted blow. Heavy black clouds were gathering, and
soon old Boreas came cracking out from the right point of the compass.

This aroused the ducks in the open water to flight, and they came in,
seeking the shelter of the shore--a fatal protection. Charles, the
original explorer of the Sound as a sporting place, and founder of the
"Raymond Hall" Club, did some good work--taking them, right and left,
with each barrel, and dropping single blue-winged teal with unerring
aim.

Theodoric is the most amiable, patient friend imaginable; can conduct