Joe called them before the dawn of day, and they were all three soon secreted in the booth. As the day broke, they began to hear a flapping of wings. First came three or four, then more, till long before sunrise the saplings, trees in the woods, and even the rope that ran from the spring-pole to the ground, were all covered with them.
Charlie was quivering with excitement. He had never seen anything like it in his life, and could scarcely contain himself as he watched them through the network of branches. There they sat, arching their necks, turning their heads first to one side and then to the other. At length one flew down to the grain, instantly followed by others; and then the whole flock came down, crowding together, and eating with the utmost voracity. As they were coming to the place, Charlie had entreated Joe to let him spring the net, and now stood with his hand on the rope; but when the crisis came, he felt that there was too much at stake, and made a sign to Joe. He gave a sudden jerk; whiz! went the rope. The fliers were flung twenty feet in the air, the whole front of the booth fell over, flung off by the rope, and such a fluttering of wings you never heard!
“O, my soul!” exclaimed Charlie. “There, there, I’ve lived long enough! Only see the—see the necks!”
“There’s forty dozen if there’s one,” said Joe.
“That’s what I call a haul,” said John.
“But,” said Charlie, “only see how pert they look, and happy, too! I thought it was going to hurt or kill some of them.”
When the net goes over the pigeons, they will stick up their necks through the meshes. It was this sight, so singular to one unaccustomed to it, that excited the wonder and prompted the exclamation of Charlie.
“I have made up my mind to one thing,” he continued. “I will not go back to Portland if I can get my living here.”
“Nor I, either,” said John.
“Glad you’ve both got so much sense. What ails you to get your living? I’ll give both of you your board and clothes to come and work for me.”