“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 scattering¹ 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 perfectly² 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 puckered³ the freckled⁴ face of Farmer Brown's boy. You see, he was thinking very hard, and when he does that he is very apt to frown.

 

“I suppose,” he muttered, “I can tear down his blind. He wouldn't know who did it. But that wouldn't do much good; he would build another. Besides, it wouldn't be right. He has a perfect right to make a blind here, and having made it, it is his and I haven't any right to touch it. I won't do a thing I haven't a right to do. That wouldn't be honest. I've got to think of some other way of saving those Ducks.”

 

The frown on his freckled face grew deeper, and for a long time he sat without moving. Suddenly his face cleared, and he jumped to his feet. He began to chuckle⁵. “I have it!” he exclaimed. “I'll do a little shooting myself!” Then he

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