We were weighing young ducks this morning in the hopes that there would be another dozen ready for market, for the greed of them is beyond belief if one had no previous experience of growing ducks. And a dirty business it was, handling feet and feathers that had recently come through the slime of the water-bank. They were heavier than we expected. Evidently the substantial meals provided for them have been supplemented by liberal desserts of juicy slugs. Wish they could be trusted in my flower-beds these wet mornings.
The otter hounds gave us a disappointment about noon. We heard their baying, and ran out to see the huntsmen move rapidly down the river, followed by a motley company of men, women and children. We were sure that a family of young otters had been near our house some weeks ago, but apparently they had shifted their quarters, for the hounds gave no sign of inquisitive excitement and soon we were left to our solitude again.
The last rakings of the hay came in to-night. There is still much in the neighbourhood unhoused. In many cases this has been unavoidable, but we know one farmer who, loth to lose a few days further growth, did not take advantage of the ten fine days which have been all the summer that fell to our lot in this corner of a much beclouded island.