“Some of ’em’s good to eat,” said he. “Regular greenheads, like we get up North.” I looked at the string of birds, and saw that they were mallards and teals, a couple of dozen at least.
“Fie, fie!” said I. “I fear you’ve been shooting on the water.”
“Sure I did! And here’s four things that I don’t suppose are good to eat—they got kind of snaky heads, and red-colored, too. Ain’t no ducks good to eat that ain’t got green heads.”
“Each man to his taste,” said I, “but if you like, you may have the green heads, and I’ll take these with the auburn locks.”
“Pshaw! What are they?” answered he.
“Only canvasbacks,” said I, “and good fat ones, too. What luck have you, Jimmy, my son?”
“Well, I went along and helped carry things,” said L’Olonnois.
“What’s that you’ve got on a string?” I asked him.
“Oh, that,” said he, flushing. “It ain’t nothing but a little turtle. It had funny marks on its back. I caught it in the grass over there by the lake.”
Something about Jimmy’s little turtle interested me, and I picked it up in my hands.