-kuk!_" and then an old drake lifted up
his voice.

"_Mark!_" said he. "_Mark-quok, quok, quok!_"

"Oh, Mr. Kincaid!" whispered Bobby sneaking quietly through the door.
"There's a great big flock of ducks lit just outside."

"That so?" queried Mr. Kincaid cheerfully in his natural voice, "Well,
we'll get after 'em in the morning. Don't you want any supper?"

Mr. Kincaid had a fire going in the little round stove. The light that
leaked from it wavered and flickered over the bunks and the table
shelves, and the diminished pile of decoys. Curly was asleep in the
corner. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid removed the frying pan from the
top of the stove, and turned over its contents with a fork. At such
times the light flared up brilliantly, illuminating the whole upper part
of the cabin. A lively sizzling arose from the frying pan; and a
delicious smell filled the air. Bobby made out a tea-kettle at the back,
and the phantom of light steam issuing from its spout.

In a little while Mr. Kincaid straightened up and with a clatter slid
an iron stove cover over the opening. He lit a candle, stuck it in the
mouth of a bottle, and moved down on the table shelf carrying the frying
pan. Bobby then saw that the table shelf had been set with two-heavy
plates, cutlery, and two granite-ware cups. The salt-rising bread and
dutch bread were laid out with a knife beside them. A saucer contained a
pat of butter; a bottle, milk; and a plate was heaped with doughnuts.

"Supper's ready," announced Mr. Kincaid cheerfully. "Sit up, Bobby."

The frying pan proved to contain two generous slices of ham; and four
eggs fried crisp.

"What's the matter with this for a feast?" cried Mr. Kincaid; "sail in!"

The man and the boy ate, the flickering light between them. Outside
howled the wind. Curly slumbered peacefully in the corner.

"This," proffered Mr. Kincaid after an interval, as he reached toward
the basket, "is what my grandfather used to call a 'good competent pie.'
Like pie, Bobby?"

"Yes, sir," replied Bobby, "but I mustn't eat the under crust."

"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you."

"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering.

Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained.

"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby.

"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throw
down a hole."

It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon on
the apples, and su