sure that it was for no good purpose. Sometimes Blacky watched from
a distance, and sometimes he flew right over the man. But never once
did the man have a gun with him.

Every morning, very early, Blacky flew over there, and every morning
he found Dusky the Black Duck and his flock in the rushes and wild
rice at that particular place, and he knew that they had been there
all night, He knew that they had come in there just at dusk the
night before, to feast on the yellow corn the man had scattered
there in the afternoon.

"It is no business of mine what those Ducks do," muttered Blacky to
himself, "but as surely as my tail feathers are black, something is
going to happen to some of them one of these days. That man may be
fooling them, but he isn't fooling me. Not a bit of it. He hasn't
had a gun with him once when I have seen him, but just the same he
is a hunter. I feel it in my bones. He knows those silly Ducks come
in here every night for that corn he puts out. He knows that after
they have been here a few times and nothing has frightened them,
they will be so sure that it is a safe place that they will not be
the least bit suspicious. Then he will hide behind those bushes he
has placed close to the edge of the water and wait for them with his
terrible gun. That is what he will do, or my name isn't Blacky."

Finally Blacky decided to drop a hint to Dusky the Black Duck. So
the next morning he stopped for a call. "Good morning," said he, as
Dusky swam in just in front of him. "I hope you are feeling as fine
as you look."

"Quack, quack," replied Dusky. "When Blacky the Crow flatters, he