r places.
There they all were, thirty-nine in number, neatly arranged with their
points downward, while outside were several more, and on Dyke bending
down, he found that they were all of a comfortable temperature; those
lying outside being cold, and apparently freshly laid.

"Well, you have eyes, old chap!" cried Emson, slapping his brother on
the shoulder, and then proceeding to loosen a coarsely meshed net from
behind his saddle. "Bravo, Dyke! I told you the tide had turned.
We'll get these home at once and put them under one of our hens.
Shouldn't wonder if we get a nice little lot of chicks from these."

"If we can get them home without breaking."

"Oh, we'll do that," cried Emson, dismounting and spreading out the net
upon the sand before they began carefully removing the spoil of the
nest--that is to say, the eggs, which evidently contained chicks.

This done, the net was folded over and tied here and there so as to form
a long bag, the ends fastened securely; and each taking an end, they
mounted, and swinging between them the huge bag, which now weighed
nearly a hundredweight, started for home. They left the new-laid eggs
to be fetched that evening, or next morning, leaving them just as they
were spread, looking clean and fresh, about the outside of the nest,
much to Dyke's regret.

"Why, we could manage them too," he said.

"We might, but if we did we should have mixed them up with the others,
which would be a pity; for if we put them under a bird, they would only
be addled, whereas if we keep them separate, they will be good either to
set under another hen, or to eat. They will not hurt there."

Dyke said no more, but held on tightly to the end of the net, helping
his brother to keep their horses a sufficient distance apart, so that
the egg purse might keep well off the ground, and not be shaken too much
by the horses' gentle pace.

"Wonder what the young birds think of their ride," said Dyke merrily.
"We shall have one of them chipping an egg presently, and poking out his
head to see what's the matter, and why things are getting so cold."

"Cold, in this scorching sun!" said Emson; "why it would hatch them out.
Hold tight."

"Right it is!" cried Dyke in seafaring style. "I say, what a smash it
would be if I let go!"

"Ah, it would," said Emson; "but you won't. Cry stop when you're tired,
and we'll change hands.--Steady, boy!" he continued to his horse, which
seemed disposed to increase its