head _here_," thought Charley, but
he did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasant
consequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman would
be highly improper; and Charley had _some_ respect for grey hairs for
their own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose.

"What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book."

"I know what _I_ shall do," said Harry, with a resolute air:

"I'll go and shoot!"

"Shoot!" cried Charley. "You don't mean to say that you're going to
waste your powder and shot by firing at the clouds! for, unless you take
_them_, I see nothing else here."

"That's because you don't use your eyes," retorted Harry. "Will you
just look at yonder rock ahead of us, and tell me what you see."

Charley looked earnestly at the rock, which to a cursory glance seemed
as if composed of whiter stone on the top. "Gulls, I declare!" shouted
Charley, at the same time jumping up in haste.

Just then one of the gulls, probably a scout sent out to watch the
approaching enemy, wheeled in a circle overhead. The two youths dragged
their guns from beneath the thwarts of the boat, and rummaged about in
great anxiety for shot-belts and powder-horns. At last they were found;
and having loaded, they sat on the edge of the boat, looking out for
game with as much--ay, with _more_ intense interest than a Blackfoot
Indian would have watched for a fat buffalo cow.

"There he goes," said Harry; "take the first shot, Charley."

"Where? where is it?"

"Right ahead. Look out!"

As Harry spoke, a small white gull, with bright-red legs and beak, flew
over the boat so close to them that, as the guide remarked, "he could
see it wink!" Charley's equanimity, already pretty well disturbed, was
entirely upset at the suddenness of the bird's appearance; for he had
been gazing intently at the rock when his friend's exclamation drew his
attention in time to see the gull within about four feet of his head.
With a sudden "Oh!" Charley threw forward his gun, took a short,
wavering aim, and blew the cocktail feather out of Baptiste's hat; while
the gull sailed tranquilly away, as much as to say, "If _that's_ all you
can do, there's no need for me to hurry!"

"Confound the boy!" cried Mr Park. "You'll be the death of some one
yet; I'm convinced of that."

"Parbleu! you may say that, c'est vrai," remarked the voyageur, with a
rueful gaze at his hat, which, besides