d that would give the game away. Let's cut out dyin', and cut
corn!"

"That's richt," agreed Dannie. "And let's work like men, and then fish
fra a week or so, before ice and trapping time comes again. I'll wager
I can beat ye the first row."

"Bate!" scoffed Jimmy. "Bate! With them club-footed fingers of yours?
You couldn't bate an egg. Just watch me! If you are enough of a watch
to keep your hands runnin' at the same time."

Jimmy worked feverishly for an hour, and then he straightened and
looked about him. On the left lay the river, its shores bordered with
trees and bushes. Behind them was deep wood. Before them lay their open
fields, sloping down to the bottom, the cabins on one side, and the
kingfisher embankment on the other. There was a smoky haze in the air.
As always the blackbirds clamored along the river. Some crows followed
the workers at a distance, hunting for grains of corn, and over in the
woods, a chewink scratched and rustled among the deep leaves as it
searched for grubs. From time to time a flock of quail arose before
them with a whirr and scattered down the fields, reassembling later at
the call of their leader, from a rider of the snake fence, which
inclosed the field.

"Bob, Bob White," whistled Dannie.

"Bob, Bob White," answered the quail.

"I got my eye on that fellow," said Jimmy. "When he gets a little
larger, I'm going after him."

"Seems an awful pity to kill him," said Dannie. "People rave over the
lark, but I vow I'd miss the quail most if they were both gone. They
are getting scarce."

"Well, I didn't say I was going to kill the whole flock," said Jimmy.
"I was just going to kill a few for Mary, and if I don't, somebody else
will."

"Mary dinna need onything better than ane of her own fried chickens,"
said Dannie. "And its no true about hunters. We've the river on ane
side, and the bluff on the other. If we keep up our fishing signs, and
add hunting to them, and juist shut the other fellows out, the birds
will come here like everything wild gathers in National Park, out West.
Ye bet things know where they are taken care of, well enough."

Jimmy snipped a spray of purple ironwort with his corn-cutter, and
stuck it through his suspender buckle. "I think that would be more fun
than killin' them. If you're a dacint shot, and your gun is clane"
(Jimmy remembered the crow that had escaped with the eggs at
soap-making), "you pretty well know you're goin' to bring down anything
you