"Phew! teacher, some pull, that! Must'a been half an hour beatin' up from Levee."
"It seemed longer than that to me, Billy," laughed Stanhope. "Once or twice I thought we were goners, but you pulled the old girl through nobly."
"I don't know as I ever put her through a rougher sea," said Billy as he began placing the decoys. "We'll get set, then we'll push into the rushes, hide our boat, an' settle down comfortable in our blind. You'll find it warm, an' snug, an' wind-proof as a rat house, soon's I get a fire started in the little stove. Hello!" as a brown shaggy head poked itself from beneath the seat and a cold nose touched his wrist, "did you think I didn't know you was there, Moll?"
Moll whined and wagged her stub of a tail, undoubtedly sensing from her master's words and manner that her offense, in "sneakin' in," had been pardoned. Five minutes later they were seated snugly inside four walls of tightly woven rushes, the blind man's face alive and glowing with the joy of once more feeling the moist kiss of open water, his ears atuned for the first whistle of incoming wings. Billy crouched by his side, gun in hand, eyes sweeping the lighting bay.
Suddenly the spaniel's tail commenced beating a soft tattoo on the rush floor and Billy's grip tightened on the walnut stock.
"How many?" whispered Stanhope.
"Five, bluebill. Comin' right to us."
A moment later the "swowee" of the cutting wings sounded, close in, and the old gun spoke twice.
"Two down," cried Stanhope. "Good work, Billy!"
Billy took his eyes from the pair of dead ducks, floating shoreward and turned wonderingly to his companion.