LOOK back, my memory, through the dim labyrinth of the past,through the mingling joys and sorrows of twenty years. Riseagain, my boyhood's days, by the winding green shores of thelittle lake. Come to me once more, my child-love, in the innocentbeauty of your first ten years of life. Let us live again, myangel, as we lived in our first paradise, before sin and sorrowlifted their flaming swords and drove us out into the world.

The month was March. The last wild fowl of the season werefloating on the waters of the lake which, in our Suffolk tongue,we called Greenwater Broad.

Wind where it might, the grassy banks and the overhanging treestinged the lake with the soft green reflections from which ittook its name. In a creek at the south end, the boats werekept--my own pretty sailing boat having a tiny natural harbor allto itself. In a creek at the north end stood the great trap(called a "decoy"), used for snaring the wild fowl which flockedevery winter, by thousands and thousands, to Greenwater Broad.

My little Mary and I went out together, hand in hand, to see thelast birds of the season lured into the decoy.

The outer part of the strange bird-trap rose from the waters ofthe lake in a series of circular arches, formed of elasticbranches bent to the needed shape, and covered with folds of finenetwork, making the roof. Little by little diminishing in size,the arches and their net-work followed the secret windings of thecreek inland to its end. Built back round the arches, on theirlandward side, ran a wooden paling, high enough to hide a mankneeling behind it from the view of the birds on the lake. Atcertain intervals a hole was broken in the paling just largeenough to allow of the passage through it of a dog of the terrieror the spaniel breed. And there began and ended the simple yetsufficient mechanism of the decoy.

In those days I was thirteen, and Mary was ten years old. Walkingon our way to the lake we had Mary's father with us for guide andcompanion. The good man served as bailiff on my father's estate.He was, besides, a skilled master in the art of decoying ducks.The dog that helped him (we used no tame ducks as decoys inSuffolk) was a little black terrier; a skilled master also, inhis way; a creature who possessed, in equal proportions, theenviable advantages of perfect good-humor a nd perfect commonsense.

The dog followed the bailiff, and we followed the dog.

Arrived at the paling which surrounded the decoy, the dog satdown to wait until he was wanted. The bailiff and the childrencrouched behind the paling, and peeped through the outermostdog-hole, which commanded a full view of the lake. It was a daywithout wind; not a ripple stirred the surface of the water; thesoft gray clouds filled all the sky, and hid the sun from view.

We peeped through the hole in the paling. There were the wildducks--collected within easy reach of the decoy--placidlydressing their feathers on the placid surface of the lake.

The bailiff looked at the dog, and made a sign. The dog looked atthe bailiff; and, stepping forward quietly, passed through thehole, so as to show himself on the narrow strip of groundshelving down from the outer side of the paling to the lake.

First one duck, then another, then half a dozen together,discovered the dog.

A new object showing itself on the solitary scene instantlybecame an object of all-devouring curiosity to the ducks. Theoutermost of them began to swim slowly toward the strangefour-footed creature, planted motionless on the bank. By twos andthrees, the main body of the waterfowl gradually followed theadvanced guard. Swimming nearer and nearer to the dog, the waryducks suddenly came to a halt, and, poised on the water, viewedfrom a safe distance the phenomenon on the land.

The bailiff, kneeling behind the paling, whispered, "Trim!"

Hearing his name, the terrier turned about, and retiring throughthe hole, became lost to the view of the ducks. Motionless on thewater, the wild fowl wondered and waited. In a minute more, thedog had trotted round, and had shown himself through the nexthole in the paling, pierced further inward where the lake ran upinto the outermost of the windings of the creek.

The second appearance of the terrier instantly produced a secondfit of curiosity among the ducks. With one accord, they swamforward again, to get another and a nearer view of the dog; then,judging their safe distance once more, they stopped for thesecond time, under the outermost arch of the decoy. Again the dogvanished, and the puzzled ducks waited. An interval passed, andthe third appearance of Trim took place, through a third hole inthe paling, pierced further inland up the creek. For the thirdtime irresistible curiosity urged the ducks to advance furtherand further inward, under the fatal arches of the decoy. A fourthand a fifth time the game went on, until the dog had lured thewater-fowl from point to point into the inner recesses of thedecoy. There a last appearance of Trim took place. A lastadvance, a last cautious pause, was made by the ducks. Thebailiff touched the strings, the weighed net-work fell verticallyinto the water, and closed the decoy. There, by dozens anddozens, were the ducks, caught by means of their owncuriosity--with nothing but a little dog for a bait! In a fewhours afterward they were all dead ducks on their way to theLondon market.

As the last act in the curious comedy of the decoy came to itsend, little Mary laid her hand on my shoulder, and, raisingherself on tiptoe, whispered in my ear:

"George, come home with me. I have got something to show you thatis better worth seeing than the ducks."

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise. I won't tell you."

"Will you give me a kiss?"

The charming little creature put her slim sun-burned arms roundmy neck, and answered:

"As many kisses as you like, George."

It was innocently said, on her side. It was innocently done, onmine. The good easy bailiff, looking aside at the moment from hisducks, discovered us pursuing our boy-and-girl courtship in eachother's arms. He shook his big forefinger at us, with somethingof a sad and doubting smile.

"Ah, Master George, Master George!" he said. "When your fathercomes home, do you think he will approve of his son and heirkissing his bailiff's daughter?"

"When my father comes home," I answered, with great dignity, "Ishall tell him the truth. I shall say I am going to marry yourdaughter."

The bailiff burst out laughing, and looked back again at hisducks.

"Well, well!" we heard him say to himself. "They're onlychildren. There's no call, poor things, to part them yet awhile."

Mary and I had a great dislike to be called children. Properlyunderstood, one of us was a lady aged ten, and the other was agentleman aged thirteen. We left the good bailiff indignantly,and went away together, hand in hand, to the cottage.