Linda took the hastily-scribbled note, written in the rather cramped, lawyer-like handwriting which she had come to know as Berkley's:
"Sorry not to see you. Am off for some duck-shooting. I will bring a brace to you and we'll eat them together, allowing Linda the bones to pick.
"In haste,
"Berk."
That was all.
"It sounds very like Berk," said Linda, "and it doesn't seem possible that he could be keeping away on purpose. Mr. Jeffreys will be very much disappointed, I am afraid."
"Of course, it is not on purpose. What an idea, Verlinda! All the men go duck-shooting this time of year; it's about all the amusement they get in this part of the world. You wouldn't deprive him of it?"
"Yes, I would; for I don't like even ducks to be killed. However, I suppose it is inevitable."
"Of course it is inevitable while ducks fly over the waters of the bay. For my part, I like to see the lads go off in their shooting clothes, with their dogs and their guns. Ducks can't live forever, and if we don't eat them, something else will."
"If they were all killed outright, I shouldn't care so much; for, of course, they are intended for food, but I can't bear to think of their only being wounded and of their suffering, perhaps, for days."
"You have too tender a heart, Verlinda, for a girl who has been brought up in a hunting community."