“Don’t the ’coy-ducks ever go right away, Dave?” asked Tom, as the boat was being quietly poled back.
“Sometimes; but not often, and if they do some others taks their places, and stops. They get fed reg’lar, and that’s what a duck likes. Good uns to eat, ducks. They mak’ nests and bring off broods of young ones, and keep to the pool year after year, and seem to know me a bit; but if Chip here went barking among ’em, or I was to go shooting, they’d soon be driven away.”
“But do they know that they are leading the wild ducks into the pipe?” said Dick eagerly.
“Not they. Ducks can’t think like you and me. They come to be fed, and the others follow ’em, and then get thinking about Chip and follow him.”
“Does Chip know?” said Tom.
“Ask him,” said Dave, laughing in his grim, silent way. “I think he doos, but he never said so. Hello!”
They were passing the edge of a great bed of reeds, and rounding a corner, when they came in sight of three or four teal, and no sooner did the birds catch sight of them than they began to scurry along the water preparatory to taking flight, but all at once there was a rush and a splash, and the party in the boat saw a huge fish half throw itself out of the water, fall back, and disappear.
“He caught him,” said Dave grimly. “You see, lad, other things ’sides me ketches the ducks.”
“A great pike!” cried Dick, standing up to try and catch sight of the tyrant of the waters.
“Ay! One as likes duck for dinner. He’ll eat him without picking his feathers off.”