Farmer Brown's boy sat on the bank of the Big River in a brown
study. That means that he was thinking very hard. Blacky the Crow
sat in the top of a tall tree a short distance away and watched
him. Blacky was silent now, and there was a knowing look in his
shrewd little eyes. In calling Farmer Brown's boy over there, he had
done all he could, and he was quite satisfied to leave the matter to
Farmer Brown's boy.

"A hunter has made that blind to shoot Black Ducks from," thought
Farmer Brown's boy, "and he has been baiting them in here by
scattering corn for them. Black Ducks are about the smartest Ducks
that fly, but if they have been coming in here every evening and
finding corn and no sign of danger, they probably think it perfectly
safe here and come straight in without being at all
suspicious. To-night, or some night soon, that hunter will be
waiting for them.

"I guess the law that permits hunting Ducks is all right, but there
ought to be a law against baiting them in. That isn't hunting. No,
Sir, that isn't hunting. If this land were my father's, I would know
what to do. I would put up a sign saying that this was private
property and no shooting was allowed. But it isn't my father's land,
and that hunter has a perfect right to shoot here. He has just as
much right here as I have. I wish I could stop him, but I don't see
how I can."

A frown puckered the freckled face of Farmer Brown's boy. You see,
he was thinking very hard, and when he does that he is very apt to
frown.