Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/406

 Hedvig.

Yes, but what about the wild duck?

Ekdal.

Ho-ho! are you afraid I shall shoot your wild duck? Never in the world. Never.

Hedvig.

No, I suppose you couldn't; they say it's very difficult to shoot wild ducks.

Ekdal.

Couldn't! Should rather think I could.

Hedvig.

How would you set about it, grandfather?—I don't mean with my wild duck, but with others?

Ekdal.

I should take care to shoot them in the breast, you know; that's the surest place. And then you must shoot against the feathers, you see—not the way of the feathers.

Hedvig.

Do they die then, grandfather?

Ekdal.

Yes, they die right enough—when you shoot properly. Well, I must go and brush up a bit. H'm—understand—h'm.  [Goes into his room.

[Hedvig waits a little, glances towards the sitting-room door, goes over to the book-*case, stands on tip-toe, takes the double-barrelled pistol down from the shelf, and