n Faushea,
and a whole grist of Goshen boys is comin' over to the island here to
fish; but you carn't well go wrong."

"Why not; are birds plenty?"

"Well! I guess they be! Plentier than ever yet I see them here."

"By Jove! that's good news," Harry answered; "where shall we find the
first?"

"Why, amost anywheres--but here, jist down by the first bridge, there's
a hull heap--leastwise there was a Friday--and then you'd best go on to
the second bridge, and keep the edge of the hill right up and down to
Merrit's Island; and then beat down here home to the first bridge again.
But won't you liquor?"

"No, not this morning, John; we did our liquoring last night. Tom, do
you hear what John says?"

"I hear, I hear," growled out old Tom; "but the critter lies like
nauthen. He always does lie, cuss him."

"Well, here goes, and we'll soon see!"

And away we went again, spinning down a little descent, to a flat space
between the hill-foot and the river, having a thick tangled swamp on the
right, and a small boggy meadow full of grass, breast-high, with a thin
open alder grove beyond it on the left. Just as we reached the bridge
Harry pulled up.

"Jump out, boys, jump out! Here's the spot."

"I tell you there aint none; darn you! There aint none never here, nor
haint been these six years; you know that now, yourself, Archer."

"We'll try it, all the same," said Harry, who was coolly loading his
gun. "The season has been wetter than common, and this ground is
generally too dry. Drive on, Tim, over the bridge, into the hollow;
you'll be out of shot there; and wait till we come. Holloa! mark, Tom."

For, as the wagon wheels rattled upon the bridge, up jumped a cock out
of the ditch by the road side, from under a willow brush, and skimmed
past all of us within five yards. Tom Draw and I, who had got out after
Harry, were but in the act of ramming down our first barrels; but Harry,
who had loaded one, and was at that moment putting down the wad upon the
second, dropped his ramrod with the most perfect sang-froid I ever
witnessed, took a cap out of his right-hand pocket, applied it to the
cone, and pitching up his gun, knocked down the bird as it wheeled to
cross the road behind us, by the cleverest shot possible.

"That's pretty well for no birds, anyhow, Tom," he exclaimed, dropping
his butt to load. "Go and gather that bird, Frank, to save time; he lies
in the wagon rut, there. How now? down charge, you Chase, sir! wh