Erie clasped her hands in ecstasy at sight of the wild ducks. "Oh, aren't they lovely!" she cried. "Put them in the ice-house, Daddy, until Billy starts for home."
Billy, who had squared away at his breakfast, spoke with his mouth full. "We're goin' to have 'em fer dinner," he informed his hostess.
"But, Billy," she remonstrated, "they'll be expecting you to bring some ducks home, you know."
"Billy says he'll shoot some more this evenin'," spoke up her father, who did not intend to allow anything to interfere with a duck dinner if he could help it.
"These ducks wouldn't keep till I get home," said Billy.
"No," supported Landon, "weather's too warm, you see, Chick. I'll start in on dressin' 'em right now," he chuckled, exchanging winks with Billy.
"You're a pair of plotters," cried Erie, "and being a weak, helpless girl I suppose I'll have to agree with you and submissively roast those birds to suit your taste."
"You'll find onions and savory hangin' to the rafters upstairs," suggested her father as he carried the ducks outside.
Erie sat down opposite to Billy, and watched him while he ate. He smiled across at her. "Your Dad seems a whole lot better," he said.
"Yes, ever so much. He's almost his old self again. He has quit smoking, you see, and he has promised me not to smoke until he is quite well again."