Poole, with mock solemnity. "Hark at him! Why should I
sneer about your filling the bags when you are not going? Of course you
wouldn't. You'd think it wouldn't be right. I thought of all that, and
said so to father."

Fitz coughed, and then said huskily--

"What did he say?"

"What did he say? Well--"

"Why don't you speak?" cried Fitz angrily.

"You might give a fellow time. What did father say?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Oh, he said he didn't like much shooting, because he did not want the
enemy to know we were up the river, but that if I saw anything in the
shape of a deer or a big bird, or anything else good to eat, I was to
fire."

"Hah!" sighed Fitz, as he saw himself spending a lonely day on board.

"Hah!" sighed Poole, in imitation. "I wish you had been going too."

Fitz looked at him searchingly.

"There!" he cried. "You are gammoning me."

Poole could not keep it in; his face expanded into a broad grin.

"I knew you were," cried Fitz.

"Yes, it's all right, old chap. The governor said that you were to
come, for he didn't think that there would be any trouble, and it would
be a pleasant change for you."

"Your father is a regular trump," cried Fitz excitedly. "I say, though;
I should have liked to have a gun."

"Well, you are going to have his. I'll carry a rifle, so as to bring
down all the bucks."

"How soon do we start?"

"Directly. Old Burgess is looking as blue as Butters' nose because he
has got to stop at home, and Butters himself is doing nothing else but
growl. He didn't like it a bit when the dad said that he must be tired
after the other night's work. But he's got to stop."

Half-an-hour later the well-manned boat was being pulled vigorously up
the rapidly narrowing river, with the two boys in the bows, on the
look-out for anything worthy of powder and shot which might appear on
either bank; but there was nothing save beauty to recompense their
watchful eyes.

Birds were plentiful enough, and of the loveliest plumage, while every
now and then a loud splash followed the movement of what seemed to be a
log of wood making the best of its way into deep water. And once high
in a mighty tree which shot up its huge bole from the very mud of the
bank, Poole pointed out a curious knot of purple, dull buff and brown,
right in the fork where a large branch joined the bole. "Not a serpent,
is it?" whispered Fitz. "It is, though," was the reply; and the middy
raised his p