And now a tremendous fluttering and excitement ensued, for as, in obedience to their leader’s sign, the lads stopped once more, Dave stepped forward rapidly, detached the final portion of the net which formed the bag or purse from the bent-over ash stick, and twisted it together and tied it round, with the result that the birds were all shut up in the long purse and at his mercy.
Just then Chip performed a kind of triumphal dance, and leaped up at Dick and again at Tom before becoming quiescent, and looking up at all in turn, giving his little stumpy tail a few wags, while his whole aspect seemed to say:
“Didn’t we do that well?”
“That’s a fine take, my lads,” said Dave in congratulatory tones.
“Yes,” said Dick, looking down at the frightened birds scuffling over each other; “but—”
“Nay! don’t, man, say that!” cried Dave. “I know, my lad. But wild duck’s good to yeat; and they’ve got to be killed and go to market. Yow wanted to see me ketch the duck, and theer they are. Going to help me kill ’em?”
“No!” cried Dick in a voice full of disgust. But he helped carry the capture to the boat after the slaying was at an end and the empty short net replaced, ready distended at the end of the tunnel or pipe.
“There we are!” said Dave. “Ready for another flock?”
“And are you going to try for another in one of the pipes over the other side?”
“Nay, not to-day, my lad,” was the reply. “The ’coy-ducks wean’t be hungry and come for their food, so we’ll wait for another time.”