der of the party--"Find it, Harry? it's
quite new to me that you ever lost it. When was it, hey?"

"Arter he'd eat a hull roast pig, I reckon--leastwise that might make
Harry lose his'n; but I'll be darned if two would be a sarcumstance to
set before you, Frank, no how. Here's A---, too, he don't never eat."

"These wood-duck are delicious," answered the Commodore, who was very
busily employed in stowing away his provant, "What a capital bird it is,
Harry."

"Indeed, is it," said he, "and this is, me judice, the very best way to
eat it, red hot from the gridiron, cooked very quick, and brown on the
outside, and full of gravy when you cut; with a squeeze of a lemon and a
dash of cayenne it is sublime. What say you, Forester?"

"Oh, you wont ketch him sayin' nauthen, leastwise not this half hour--
but the way he'll keep a feedin' wont be slow, I tell you--that's the
way to judge how Forester likes his grub--jest see how he takes hold on
't."

"Are there many wood-duck about this season, Tom?" asked Forester,
affecting to be perfectly careless and indifferent to all that had
passed. "Did you kill these yourself?"

"There was a sight on them a piece back, but they're gittin' scase--
pretty scase now, I tell you. Yes, I shot these down by Aunt Sally's big
spring-hole a Friday. I'd been a lookin' round, you see, to find where
the quail kept afore you came up here--for I'd a been expectin' you a
week and better--and I'd got in quite late, toward sundown, with an
outsidin' bevy, down by the cedar swamp, and druv them off into the big
bog meadows, below Sugarloaf, and I'd killed quite a bunch on them--
sixteen, I reckon, Archer; and there wasn't but eighteen when I lit on
'em--and it was gittin' pretty well dark when I came to the big spring,
and little Dash was worn dead out, and I was tired, and hot, and
thunderin' thirsty, so I sets down aside the outlet where the spring
water comes in good and cool, and I was mixin' up a nice long drink in
the big glass we hid last summer down in the mudhole, with some great
cider sperrits--when what should I hear all at once but whistle,
whistlin' over head, the wings of a whole drove on 'em, so up I buckled
the old gun; but they'd plumped down into the crick fifteen rod off or
better, down by the big pin oak, and there they sot, seven ducks and two
big purple-headed drakes--beauties, I tell you. Well, boys, I upped gun
and tuck sight stret away, but just as I was drawin', I kind o' t