"Yes, do," said Tug, eagerly, "and I'll get my gun."
"What? to shoot them! Oh, no."
"But they will make good eating."
"Ye-e-s, I suppose so," agreed the kind-hearted girl; "but I hate to have them shot."
"It's hard, I know," Aleck said, sympathizing more with his sister than with the birds, I fear; "but we need everything we can get. It may be a great piece of good-fortune that they have come, and—Hold up, Tug; aren't you afraid if you shoot at them they will be scared away for good?"
"No fear of that," was the answer; "and we have no other way. Come along, Katy, and keep Rex quiet."
Luncheon was stuffed in their pockets, and all hastened towards the house.
There they still were—several flocks of birds resembling sparrows, but larger than any common sparrow, and white; so white, in fact, that they could only be seen at all against the snow by glimpses of a few brown and black feathers on their backs. In each flock, however, there were one or two of a different sort, easily distinguishable by their darker plumage and rusty brown heads. Tug said they were Lapland longspurs, and had pretty much the same habits as their numerous associates. The whole flock of birds was very restless, constantly rising and settling, but showed no disposition to go away, and took little alarm at the four figures that stealthily approached.
"What are they?" whispered Aleck to Tug.