perhaps, the position sent the blood
rushing to his head. At any rate his wilful thoughts mastered him, and
in a spirit of reckless indifference to the consequences he leaped
ashore, ran up to the hut, dashed in, caught up the powder-horn and
shot-bag, thrust them into his pockets, and seizing the gun, he took it
from its leather slings, his hands trembling, and a sensation upon him
that Dave was looking in at the door.

"What an idiot I was!" he cried, with a feeling of bravado now upon the
increase. "Dave won't mind, and I want to shoot all by myself."

He glanced round uneasily enough as he made for the punt, where he laid
the gun carefully down, and, seizing his pole, soon sent the vessel to
some distance from the hut, every stroke seeming to make him breathe
more freely, while a keen sensation of joy pervaded him as he glanced
from time to time at the old flint-lock piece, and longed to be where
there would be a chance to shoot.

The day was hot as ever, but the heat was forgotten as the punt was sent
rapidly along in the direction of the fir-clump island, for it was out
there that the wilder part of the fen commenced, and the hope that he
would there find the birds more tame consequent upon the absence of
molestation made the laborious toil of poling seem light.

But all the same a couple of hours' hard work had been given to the
task, and Dick was still far from his goal, when it occurred to him that
a little of the bread and butter cut in slices, and with a good thick
piece of ham between each pair, would not be amiss.

He laid the pole across the boat, then, and for a quarter of an hour
devoted himself to the task of food conversion for bodily support.

This done, there was the gun lying there. It was not likely that he
would have a chance at anything; but he thought it would be as well to
be prepared, and in this spirit, with hands trembling from eagerness, he
raised the piece and began the task of loading, so much powder, and so
much paper to ram down upon it.

But he had no paper. It was forgotten, and Dick paused.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Dick took out his
pocket-handkerchief and his knife, and in a few minutes the cotton
square was cut up, a piece rammed in as a wad, and a measure of shot
poured on the top.

Another piece of handkerchief succeeded, going down the barrel with that
peculiar _whish whash_ sound, to be thumped hard with the ramrod at the
bottom till the rod was rea